


A Handful of Ashes

by liviay



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Be Careful What You Wish For, Blood, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Assault, Sexual Violence, Torture, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2018-12-22 21:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11975715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liviay/pseuds/liviay
Summary: After destroying Luke Skywalker's Jedi Temple, young Ben Solo flees to his first meeting with the elusive Snoke. What he finds out is dark and unexpected.Keep reading to see more of his training...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a violent story with a lot of triggering elements. Please check the warnings carefully and don't read it unless you're sure you can be safe. An extended disclaimer can be found at the endnotes. It has spoilers, but I suggest you read it if you have any doubts about the themes I'm writing about in here.
> 
> Please let me know what you think. :)  
> I'll be tagging as I go.

 

When he finally came to his senses, he realized he was way too close to the fire. He should have been scared, he should have started to run, but his mind was blank. He felt numb at first, nothing but a muffled noise ringing in his ears, until the blazing structure threatening to engulf his lanky figure woke him up at last. Trembling, he clipped his weapon to his belt after a few tries, the hilt slipping from his feeble grip. He was drenched in something; it dripped through his hairline, his back, his arms. He stumbled backwards, his feet soaked inside his boots.

Still, he watched the flames go higher and higher, mesmerized.

Above them, dark smoke billowed into the night, making it hard to breathe. He coughed, his throat burning. The thought of swallowing flowing embers made him cough harder. The air boiled up inside his chest, trying to make its way out of his lungs in a nauseating flow he struggled to contain. It was too hot, too dry. He attempted to protect his mouth with his tunic, but the clothing was soggy and salty, with an intolerable metallic aftertaste. He sputtered, wondering why he was bathed in some foul fluid, too thick and copious to be just sweat. He looked up, searching for any signs of rain, but there were no clouds in the sky. A huge moon stood there, motionless and weary, challenging the stars. The glowing circle was like an enormous eye, disapprovingly gazing down.

He had been gazed like this for so long, perhaps his entire life. Not openly condemned, but frowned upon; not quite hated, but resented: a peculiar child, moody and anxious, but genuinely trying her best to be good – only to end up misbehaving against her will like the subject of a curse. He was cursed, indeed; his whole family was cursed, and that fire was meant to be a smoldering purge, he remembered suddenly. It wasn’t his idea, not to begin with, but he carried it on, believing when he was told this was the first step to free himself from feeling like a wretched disappointment. And yet, now that he could claim full responsibility for what just happened, he only felt disoriented and lost, a little boy whose mother vanished in a crowd.

He was lost in his thoughts when all the sounds came back in a blaring cacophony: the loud crackling of fire, people screaming in final agony, a man calling a name he did not recognize. He ran one hand through his matted hair, a dark mop that barely covered the tip of his ears, trying to remember what he was supposed to do now. He held tight at the thin braid behind his right earlobe, like an amulet. He knew now it wasn’t a lucky charm, but old habits die hard. And just as the coppery smell hit him a moment later, like an angry fist to the face, he understood he was covered in blood, even though he wasn’t hurt.

It was the blood of his brethren.

His victims’ blood. Maybe even his uncle’s, and he grasped the name the old man was shouting. Terror sank low in his core, baptized in gore and death, and Ben Solo ran, until the air gushed past him heavy with smoke, dreadfully close to choking him. Acid tears emerged from his eyes, carving tiny streams of bare skin in his blood-soaked cheeks. Near the mayhem he caused, a transport arranged by his new master – his one true friend at that point – was waiting to take him far away from the life he’d just turned into ashes.

He did not look back.

* * *

Still shivering, Ben fumbles with the ship’s control panel. His coordinates had been calculated long ago, to bring him across the emptiness of space to the only place he could go now, his master’s lair. The journey was supposed to be lengthy, with many jumps and covering uncharted territory, but it goes by as a bluish dream, lasting for what seemed like no more than the span of a restless night.

He doesn’t leave the pilot’s seat, staring half-asleep into the viewport, afraid to look to his dirty hands and soiled clothes. He grabs his braid from time to time, thinking about his mother, trying desperately not to make a holo-call to her. By now, he thinks, everybody knows what he’s done, even if he doesn’t feel fully capable of figuring anything out of his actions. He feels dizzy, scared, drained. He stops counting jumps after the fourth one. Hyperspace never felt so uncanny, and its blue lines tint Ben’s pale skin with a faint shade of purple.

An old space station comes into view, looking so ancient it’s probably a relic from the Old Republic. The sight of his destination makes Ben throw up like a nervous kid at the first day of school. His mind wanders back to that day in Hosnian Prime, when his mother cleaned him up, sighing in annoyance. He knows what she’s thinking, even after all these years. How can this child, _her_ child, dislike school? Dislike learning things? Make new friends? She never understood, nobody does, and he remembers clinging to her dress as she goaded him towards the teacher and left him there, utterly alone. She would do that again many times, eventually handing him over to his uncle.

The uncle he left to die in the fire.

Ben grabs his head with both hands, crying again. He feels so young. Somehow, he remains that same strange kid, pale-faced and too tall for his age, big ears and sad brown eyes – an unfortunate combination of features that, he is certain, culminates in a dim-witted look. He is heaving again, but manages to control himself. There is no one to wipe his face now, so he rips off part of his tunic and haphazardly cleans himself and the floor, the acrid taste of fear lingering in his tongue like a disease.

He is utterly alone again, as the ship makes a quiet landing inside the station, nothing but a faint thud giving away the end of his itinerary. He shakes harder, and is downright quivering with clattering teeth when the ramp descends and he dares to thread into the dimly lit hangar. Only two other ships are docked there, and they look as inconspicuous as the one he just got off from. He’s too scared to call out for his new master, and he doesn’t know if the thumping in his head is the echo of his hesitant steps or the beating of his frantic heart. Perhaps it’s both.

The station is colder than the ship, and Ben panics at the thought that maybe his master decided he wasn’t worthy after all, and left his failed would-be apprentice to freeze in a derelict base unbeknownst to the rest of the galaxy. He summons all his strength and forces himself to drag his feet forward, one boot after the other, and when Ben reaches the door that leads to the insides of the station – or at least that’s what he can understand from the fading aurebesh sign painted there – he is surprised by the towering figure that opens it from the other side, and smirks at him.

“I could sense your victory from here”, the master says in the ominous voice that, until now, could only be heard inside the apprentice’s brain. “So why do you feel so defeated, Ben Solo?”

It’s so weird to hear his name coming from those ruined lips. There is more than anger in his master’s tone, an unequivocal contempt that sees Ben for what he really is, the failed spawn of much braver parents, the ruined mix of royal blood and mystic powers, some kind of unfulfilled promise. Ben opens his mouth to ask for forgiveness, but before any excuses can be made he is pushed through the air and falls hard against one of the docked ships.

He collapses to the ground, tears streaking down his face, too shocked to do anything but crawl away from his attacker. His master walks slowly towards Ben, lips still curled in a disfigured smile. The old man wears golden robes, and they rustle through the hangar like a caress, making the brutish power that overwhelms Ben seem even more frightening. The invisible fist of the Force grabs Ben by the neck, and he tries in vain to free himself from its unrelenting grasp.

“We will have to kill this weak boy before you can become a powerful man”, his master says, laughing now, amused by his suffering. Ben can’t breathe, can’t feel the floor, his eyes burn. His voice is trapped in his throat, and he feels his body floating closer to the old man. His master inspects his choking face with alien curiosity and a hint of disgust, as if Ben is some peculiar food he was challenged to try. He sniffs at the boy, a predator taking in the scent of his prey.

Ben is relieved when his boots touch the floor again. His chest expands in a deep inhale, but he still can’t move. The master gestures, and the lightsaber attached to Ben’s belt floats against his face. The boy stares silently at the weapon he made himself. But there’s no time to be proud of his skills: the same disembodied power that crushed his throat now shatters the hilt, and scraps of metal clang loudly when they hit the floor. A green gem is the only thing to remain intact, and it hovers for a few seconds between the two of them. His master grabs the glowing little rock and hides it in one of his pockets, so fast that Ben wonders if he is just imagining all this.

“You will bleed this crystal, in time. But first, I will be the one to make you bleed.”

His master’s tone is hoarse, menacing. Ben whimpers, anticipating strenuous training and harsher punishments, but nothing could prepare him for what happens next. His master gesticulates dispassionately, commanding the Force to tear Ben’s clothes off, baring his white skin. The boy shivers in the cold air, still held in place by the Force, face wet with new tears of shame. He is covered in dried blood, cold sweat and ashes, nothing else except for his boots. He feels so small, shorter than his six-feet height, much younger than his sixteen years. His face flushes, every hair in his body rises.

When his master finally allows him to move, he doesn’t, feeling truly terrified. He only takes off his boots when the robed man orders him, and then kneels to the floor when demanded. He is transfixed with fear, and stares pleadingly into his master’s monstrous eyes. They are ice-cold blue, uneven in the scarred face.

A sharp slap sears against Ben’s cheek.

“Look down, insolent boy”, his master’s say.

Ben bows his head, watching his tears splash the floor in fat drops. His master is so close now, the golden robe brushes Ben’s forehead. The old man reeks of mold and excrement, a foul stench that makes Ben’s nostrils flare in disgust. He doesn’t dare to look away from the floor, but senses when his master opens the front of his garment, parting it sideways.

The boy feels a tug in the back of his head. His master painfully grabs a handful of dark hair, and pushes Ben’s face against his crotch. The smell is putrid. He is retching again, which only brings another slap, and a cruel pull at his braid. Ben doesn’t know what to do when he sees the fetid member in front of him. It is huge and deformed like his owner, dirty and rotten, the torture device of an ancient mummified demon.

“Master Snoke…” Ben tries to say, but the old man grabs his hair with both hands, and forces himself through Ben’s lips.

“Good, keep your mouth open”, he hears his master snarl.

And Snoke is brutal, pushing against the back of Ben’s throat mercilessly. The boy chokes, gags, involuntarily tries to back away, but is held firmly in place, by his master’s hands and by the Force. He is sobbing now, trying hard to placate his reflexes, but a disgusting mess is unavoidable. Ben finally succumbs to the nausea, and feels an immediate kick to his ribs that makes him slide into the puddle of his own sickness, coughing and spiting.

Ben feels so powerless, so humiliated. Disgraced. Another blow, this time right in his face, and he falls on his stomach, blood streaming from his nose. He can taste when it reaches his mouth. The pain startles him, so does everything that’s been going on so far. He came all this way to gather strength, not to be broken down.

“Master”, Ben mumbles again, wailing and bleeding on the floor; “why do you betray me?”

“Betray you, boy?”

Vicious laughter echoes through the hangar, and Ben feels the sarcasm rips through him in a wave of renewed humiliation. The Force grabs his naked body one more time, he feels its grapple against his waist, bringing him up on all fours, trapping him in this mortifying position. Snoke circles him, until he is behind Ben’s ravaged body.

“This is your first lesson, foolish child. I _am_ teaching you”

A spark of rage burns inside Ben’s chest when he is called a child, but he lets it perish. He is too weak to put up a fight and, even if he had his full strength, he knows he’s no match to his master. He just struggles to stay in place, with all those nasty fluids making him slippery.

“Did you expect kindness?” Snoke says, and then slaps Ben hard, across the face. “I am no Jedi, boy.”

Ben closes his eyes shut. He keeps waiting for worse things to come. He is so cold, so dirty, and tries to hold very still even as more degradation threatens to further debase him. He feels Snoke’s hands clawing at the soft skin of his hips, so deep Ben feels the skin splitting.

“Only pain, only anger can unlock the doors of real power”, his master say.

Ben swallows his nausea, blood still pouring from his nose – now at a weaker flow, most of it congealing down his chin. Snoke’s fingers scratch past Ben’s back, his behind, the inner part of his thighs. His body tenses in distress.

“I am not just your master”, the old man says, his exploring fingers now pulling at Ben’s testicles, kneading almost to the point of hurting. Ben holds his breath, waiting for the excruciating pain. “I am your Supreme Leader. I shall be everything to you. The most important thing in your life, for now on.” But the agony of a crushed genital doesn’t come, and Ben feels the hand withdrawing – a deceitful mercy, however. He can hear when Supreme Leader spits. “You will obey my every command. Do you pledge yourself to me, Ben Solo?”

And as soon as the boy mewls a soft affirmative, Snoke violates Ben’s final threshold, spreading saliva around the most intimate place in his shaky body and inserting one long finger as deep as possible. Ben clenches in reflexive horror, tries to scape, but the Force makes sure he stays quiescent. When the finger leaves, something way bigger bumps at his entrance, and Ben flinches and wiggles against the invasion.

He cries out when his master’s organ defiles him, the impossible length and girth desecrating Ben. His body shudders with every painful sob: he is being torn apart. The harrowing ache comes with the final understanding of what is happening to him, as unbelievable as it may be. Ben wasn’t that interested in the matters of flesh, and he never foresaw such violence, not even in his worst nightmares. It feels like death, like burning and drowning at the same time. Each thrust from Snoke makes Ben sure he won’t be able to survive the next one, and yet he endures the whole session, eventually dissociating from his body and sending his broken mind to another place.

It is far away from the abandoned hangar where he is being defiled. He imagines a much younger version of himself, meditating at his uncle’s school. The wind blows against his raven hair, and he looks so peaceful. It’s a rare moment of calmness to the troubled child, no worries, no fear. But then another Ben, the one he is now, disgraced and corrupt, comes wielding a blaster, and shots the little kid cold. He keeps shooting, mutilating the small body, until there is nothing left to destroy.

When he is done, he is brought back to the real him by Snoke’s grueling pace, now impossible to ignore. Ben is no longer on all fours. His master is holding the Ben’s hands against his back, pushing his face and chest to the filthy ground, stretching him way past his limits. Ben feels much slicker now, and realizes he is probably bleeding down there. He fights a little, somehow trying to escape each agonizing plunge from Snoke, but it’s a futile effort.

The pain reaches its peak, at last. Ben screams, and his Leader finally screams with him, going so deep he falls over the boy’s body, pushing Ben's belly against the floor. Snoke stays on top of him for a long time, the weight making it even harder for Ben to breath. After a while, Snoke retreats slowly and stands up. He raises Ben using the Force, until he is kneeling in front of his master. Snoke gazes at Ben for a few moments, smirking again, and then smear his softening member across his face. The disgusting thing is coated with a crimson goop. Ben looks away.

“Suck it clean, boy”, Snoke orders, amused.

Ben obeys, his body limp, swollen eyes cast to the floor. There is nothing else he can do. When he finishes licking and swallowing all the remaining fluids, Supreme Leader Force-pushes him against the floor, but not so hard this time. Ben curls around himself, braces his knees against his stomach, too tired to cry now. His master steps closer, and Ben feels warm liquid pouring over his body.

Urine. A final humiliation Ben barely acknowledges.

“Clean this mess. There are supplies inside. Then take a shower, boy. You’re filthy.”

Ben stays on the floor for as long as he can, mourning and aching, alone. Then he stands, and pulls at his braid until he tears it apart from his skull. It almost doesn’t hurt.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben is lured to another session of Snoke's teachings...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This a violent story, with graphic details and triggering elements. Read only if you're sure you're okay with everything.
> 
> I'd love to know what you think about it.

 

He looks like a ghost of himself, so pale he is almost translucent, with deep dark circles around his tired eyes, no moisture in his lips. His hair has been shaved off, black locks cover the metal sink he is leaning against. The wounds on his face are greenish-brown; his nose, a bit more crooked. Ben is thinner, his lankiness giving way to emaciation. Now his ears are the most prominent of his features, and they also disclose evidence of the beating he took as a welcome gift from his master: tiny cuts healing at the tips.

There’s a razor in his right hand. Ben thinks about cutting himself with it. Perhaps the stingy pain of a cut could dull the ache in his heart. Or maybe he could slash his own bruised throat. Get it over with. He remembers reading, long ago, that some people do it when they get hurt beyond salvation, or when they get caught by enemies. It would be so easy, merciful even. He gazes at the blade for a long time, wondering if killing himself would be an act of cowardice or the utmost courage.

Would he be one with the Force, finally? Or would he be condemned to some other horror, beyond this mortal realm? Ben realizes he still doesn’t understand all the mysteries of the Force, not even close. And even though he came to this place to learn, he’s already thinking about giving up, right at the first obstacle.

Typical.

He is so weak.

He peers at his reflection again, noticing light signs of stubble across the jaw of the boy who stares back at him. The sad boy. Nervous, inept, pathetic Ben Solo. He likes to think that there are two Bens, now: the stupid son of a planetless princess, and the sullen warrior in training who lives in a space station. He stares at the other Ben, the one looking at him from the other side of the mirror. He has the same sad face, and both boys grimace with the same fat, bruised lips.

Their eyes get red and wet, tears run down their angular cheeks. He hates the other Ben, wishes he could transcend that ghastly creature and become someone else. Not even a better version of himself, but a completely different person. He thinks about smashing the mirror with his fist. Imagines the shards ripping his flesh, slicing his veins, one big enough to pierce through his chest. But then he remembers his master’s orders. They were the first words Supreme Leader uttered to him after… after the day Ben arrived.

He did not see Supreme Leader for weeks after that first encounter. Ben kept himself hidden inside the ship he used to fled from his uncle’s school, too scared to look for Snoke, too shocked to sleep. He wrapped himself in an old blanket he found at the ship’s survival kit, wide-eyed and naked, and just stayed there, shivering. What a coward, Ben thinks now. He was so surprised when a protocol droid appeared that it actually had to explain it was harmless, before Ben could take his head from under the blanket. The droid was too old to have its precise model identified. It gave Ben weathered clothes, rations for at least fifteen days, fresh water.

And then, one day, Snoke finally appeared unannounced at Ben’s ship, and addressed three sentences to the panic-stricken boy.

“First, fast for an entire standard day.” That one was easy. He hasn’t been eating, can’t come to terms with the nausea that haunts him all the time.

“Second, shave every hair in your body.” Ben started with the raven mop in his head. He liked it long to hide his ears, but also to annoy his father. Now it’s all gone, scattered through the fresher like the flimsy corpses of little black worms. He snorts at that thought. So dramatic, his father would say.

“Third, get thoroughly clean.” Well, that was the hardest part.

Ben pinches his brow. _Stop with all the self-pity, now_. He should follow these commands. Supreme Leader is wise, and will teach him how to be powerful. Don’t think about what happened, don’t indulge in this deplorable commiseration feast. _Stop crying,_ he tells himself in his head. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, and proceeds with the shaving. There’s hair in his arms, his legs, his groins. Ben takes his time, trying not to think. About anything. Like he does when in meditation.

Don’t think, just do what you must do.

When he is done, Ben wishes to take a bath, but there’s no water at the station, or so it seems. No matter how many sonic showers he takes, he doesn’t feel clean. There’s something purifying about running water, about the natural flow of things. He knows that. Or maybe this is some Jedi bullshit. _Isn’t it_? He sighs, so exhausted, and checks himself in the mirror again. He doesn’t look dirty. Maybe he is tarnished in some other way, impossible to clean.

He is overthinking things again. _Don’t think! Do not think at all._

Ben cleans the refresher afterwards. Nobody told him to do it, but he can sense Supreme Leader doesn’t like when things get messy. He puts on the clothes his master sent him, everything in a worn shade of grey: pants, tunic, a sash. They’re too big, so he tucks his pants inside his boots, folds up his sleeves. He doesn’t want to think that those clothes probably belonged to his master, once. He doesn’t know a taller human. Supreme Leader Snoke _is_ human, right?

He decides to think about the droid, so he doesn’t have to think about anything else. Unlike most protocol droids he is familiar with, Snoke’s one isn’t talkative. It’s gray and opaque, with insectoid eyes. It speaks in short, precise sentences, and leaves as soon as its messages and goods are delivered. It never gave Ben a name. But, one day, it gave Ben a book. It was beautiful and ancient, made out of paper, bound in dark leather. The book is probably older than the nameless droid itself, and Ben keeps it in the ship, wrapped inside the blanket. It’s not written in aurebesh, so he can’t figure the language out. But the scribbled signature inside the cover is readable enough. The first time he touched that name, he felt the same twisted thrill of staring into an abyss and wanting to jump.

The book once belonged to his grandfather, Anakin Skywalker – who would pass to history as the mighty Darth Vader. Being honored with such a possession was worthy of any physical discomfort Ben could fathom.

Wasn’t it?

* * *

When he leaves the fresher, the nameless droid is already waiting at the door. Ben follows him past the well-lit corridors of the station, to his surprise – when he arrived, Ben was expecting derelict walls, shady passageways, wreckage. But everything is pristine, so clean even the floor is reflective. It is made of a pitch-black material he can’t name, and doesn’t dare ask the droid. It’s a short walk, and it ends before closed blast doors. Ben is left alone with his laborious breath and his fear. He feels dizzy when the doors open and he sees his master again, cloaked by the same golden robe. Ben’s mind races back to that first day at the hangar, and he swallows the lump in his throat.

“Your fear flattens me, boy”, Snoke says. “But unless you can turn it into anger, it is useless. Come.”

The door closes behind them when Ben passes. The room is very large, and lots of boxes, vaults and weird pieces of furniture are clattered against its walls. The floor is made of the same reflective black material. In the middle of the room, a metal chain is piled neatly on the floor, with a set of magnetic handcuffs on top. Ben can see there’s a metal hook attached to the ceiling. Sweat prickles in his hairless head. He wants to throw up. He wants to run away.

“Undress.”

His master’s tone is neutral. Ben’s teeth threaten to clatter, and he clenches his jaw as tight as possible to prevent the onset of incontrollable shudder. He touches the spot on his scalp where his braid used to be. The laceration is almost healed now. He scratches it, nervous, but before his master gets _annoyed_ , Ben starts to loosen the sash around his waist. He folds every piece of clothing before putting it on the floor, trying not to shake. This seems to last for hours, but it can’t possibly have taken more than a few minutes. Either way, Snoke stares at him the whole time, unblinking, in silence.

Ben can see his naked body reflected at the floor. He’s embarrassed, but feels so cold he almost welcomes the hot flush of shame spreading through his face and his chest. His heart feels like a wild beast thrusting itself against his ribs. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, brimming with anxiety.

“Get the binders. Use the Force”, Snoke says.

Ben looks at his master, eyes getting wet. “Master, I –”, he starts to murmur, but Supreme Leader interrupts him.

“Get the binders, using the Force. Now.”

Ben rises his hand slowly to the air, uncertain, shivering. The cuffs tremble slightly, and float unsteadily to his master. Snoke grabs them from the air.

He turns to Ben and demands: “Your wrists.”

Ben feels like moving through drying permacrete. He extends his arms, wrists close together. His master snaps the cuffs around them. “Now the chain”, Snoke says.

The first tear runs quietly down Ben’s cheek, but he manages to levitate one end of the chain towards Snoke. It feels so heavy in his mind, as if he were lifting the entire station. Ben is panting by the time Supreme Leader attaches the chain to the cuff. Like the last time, Snoke doesn’t seem concerned with his apprentice’s hesitation, let alone his tears.

“Tether these chains to the hook in the ceiling”, Snoke barks.

Ben looks at his manacled hands. _Don’t think, just do it,_ he chants to himself inside his brain, and wonders if his master can hear him. Ben pictures the chain floating to the hook, attaching itself there, then going right to his master’s hands. That way, it’s easier to accomplish the task of chaining himself to the ceiling.

Still, grief settles heavy over him when Ben hears everything clicking into place, and he is caught off guard when feel a tug in his hands. Supreme Leader pulls the chain until Ben is standing right under the hook, arms stretched upwards as high as possible. A painful moan scapes from Ben’s lips. Snoke drops the chain to the floor, without attaching it to another weight. There is no other hook keeping it in place, and Ben realizes his master is probably doing it with the Force. Snoke steps closer to Ben, lifts his chin and gazes into his frightened eyes. Supreme Leader smells like decayed, rotten flesh. Ben looks to the floor, afraid of getting slapped for staring.

His master pets his head, an unexpected soft touch.

“Good boy”, Snoke coaxes him. “Now, you must keep the chain in place all the time, until I release you from the task. If you fail, I will punish you.”

The taut chain suddenly gets loose, runs down the hook, and Ben drops to his knees. He manages to pull the chain tight again with the Force, stretching up until he’s standing on his toes, but it’s too late.

Ben starts to apologize hysterically, but Snoke grabs him by the neck, using his real fingers, and chokes until Ben gasps for air, crying loudly, begging for mercy. Snoke slaps him so hard Ben feels blood inside his own mouth.

“Quiet. Don’t speak unless I command you to”, Snoke says.

Ben closes his eyes. He doesn’t speak, but he can’t control his sobbing. He tries to focus on the chain, on his aching legs, his restrained arms. He must not move. _Keep still, keep still, it will be over soon_.

_It will be worth it._

Everything is dark red beneath his shut eyelids. _Control your breath_. He struggles to clear his mind, but eventually he is just sniffling, inhaling and exhaling in slow, rhythmic motion. _Pretend you're meditating_. He manages to balance himself and stays as motionless as possible, frozen in place. He blocks the thought that he is torturing himself by holding the chain. _Focus_. He becomes increasingly aware of his surroundings, and feels his master moving to his back. Something whooshes past his face, an object his master cast with the Force from one of the vaults.

It hums, but it’s not a lightsaber. It isn’t a laser beam – it feels more like electricity. The air is charged, now. And although Ben is able to anticipate the stroke against his shoulder blades, he can’t help a stunned cry when the whip lashes his skin. The chain screeches against the hook.

 _Don’t move, do not move_ , he pleads to himself.

He barely has time to find his equilibrium when the second blow hits him, and a third, then a forth; each agonizing stroke accompanied by the burning current of an electrical shock. Ben is heaving. The fifth stroke splits his skin and jerks his body to the front, but somehow he is able to hold the chain in place. He loses track of the lashes after that, feeling the electric whip thrashing his buttocks, then his thigs, his torso. He is drenched in cold sweat and warm blood. When the pain becomes unbearable, he wets himself. His urine pools beneath his feet.

Something snaps inside him, then. He is boiling with rage.

Ben hates himself for being so weak. He hates the family he left behind, he hates Luke and the Jedi. He hates his new master. And, perhaps most of all, he hates that he can control the Force. If he wasn’t sensitive to it, at least he wouldn’t be an active part of his own suffering. He could just let his body go against the chains, and not give a fuck whether they’d stay in place or not.

He screams, eyes open now, so he sees Snoke staring back at him, the whip radiating in his hand. The monster is smiling, his blue eyes are completely black.

“Keep still, boy”, Snoke says in a calm, composed voice. “If you move, I’ll know”.

Then he turns, and leaves the room.

Ben is left shaking, fluids still dripping to the floor. He does not make a move. Slowly, his wrath starts to turn into this quiet despair. He thinks about Anakin’s book. He thinks a thousand times about giving up, severing his Force-connection to the awful chain and endures whatever punishment Snoke concocts to torture him. He breathes loudly through his mouth, his face is a swollen mess of tears, sweat and mucus.

But he stays in place, for as long as it takes.

* * *

When Snoke finally comes back, the blood covering Ben’s body has clot. Ben doesn’t look up, he is as good as dead. Supreme Leader’s hand is cold, and he caresses Ben’s clean-shaved head with feigned softness. Snoke’s fingers trace Ben’s jawline, run down his neck and his collarbones. They pinch one of Ben’s nipples, hard, until the boy groans meekly, and go further down, nails scraping against Ben’s flat stomach. Unceremoniously, Supreme Leader grabs Ben’s testicles and squeezes. The boy finally turns to his master with heavy-lidded, vacant eyes.

Snoke smirks. He takes a step back and makes a gesture. Ben is freed from the weight of the chains. There’s a glimpse of surprise in his otherwise lifeless face, but he keeps very still, arms pointing up.

Snoke smiles, a terrifying view: “Good boy. You can low your hands, now.”

Snoke makes another gesture; the cuff pops open around Ben’s bony wrists, and fall to the floor with a clank. Ben’s hands are numb, but he resists the urge to rub them.

“Kneel”, Snoke says.

Ben obeys, and watches impassive as Supreme Leader summons a chair from the cluttered furniture. Snoke sits with open legs. Ben can see when his hard organ points up from the golden robes.

“Come. Put my cock in your mouth”, Snoke orders.

Ben drags his knees forward, until he is between his master’s legs. He understands this, now. All of this. Ben is supposed to be the architect of his own torment, some sort of crazy self-mutilating freak. Why would anyone oblige and aid in their own torture? He must’ve gone insane. He feels mad. Why would he let someone, anyone, beat the crap out of him – and even _help_ them doing it? He must be delusional. Maybe he created this old overlord in his mind, to justify the hideous things Ben wanted to do to himself. Maybe there is no Snoke, no voice in his head, no running from his uncle, no space station. Perhaps Ben is trapped in his own mind. He could laugh now, if he was a little crazier. Perhaps he’ll go fully mad when this “training” is over.

But then Snoke laughs, and pets Ben’s head again, as if the boy were a little animal. Ben feels Snoke’s presence inside his head, shuffling through Ben’s thoughts as if they were holorecords to choose from. His master is real, the repulsive cock in front of Ben is too damn real, everything is more real than all of his life as Ben Solo, as Luke’s apprentice, as his parent’s son. This is his life, now. _You better stop with all this nonsense_ , he chides himself in his mind.

Ben grabs Snokes thighs for support and swallows him as deep as he can, still hearing his master’s laughter. There’s no more hair in Ben’s head for Snoke to use as a harness, so Supreme Leader use the Force to push him deeper, faster. Ben gags, but doesn’t stop, doesn’t fight against it. Soon he is drooling, panting, wanting it to be over, at long last feeling angrier than scared.

When Ben’s jaw is hurting, Snoke pushes him away a little, and rises from the chair, stroking himself. Supreme Leader comes on his apprentice’s face and makes Ben swallow some of it, easing his filthy seed into the boy’s mouth. Then Snoke spreads it across Ben's face and even his hairless scalp. He makes Ben suck his fingers clean.

“The droid can translate the book to you” Snoke says, his fingers still inside Ben’s mouth.

Ben stares at the old man. Snoke’s come is drying fast, sealing one of Ben’s eyelids shut. The boy just wants to take a shower, and be bludgeoned in his head until he is passed out. Ben yearns for some type of narcotic, but he can only count on his own exhaustion to sleep. He nods slowly, afraid to speak.

“Clean this mess before you go”, Snoke says, turning to leave the room. “I’ll be inquiring you about the book in our next session. Get prepared.”

Later, when Ben finally takes the damned sonic shower, he realizes he can never be clean again, not even by all the water in the galaxy.

The Dark Side stains its disciples permanently. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben's training continues, and Snoke is relentless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, keep in mind this a graphic story, with lots of triggering elements. Don't forget to check the tags before reading.
> 
> Let me know if you like it!

 

It started with a sneeze. He was preparing to meditate when his nose got itchy. At first, he ignored it, but the tickling sensation lingered. He sniffed it off and closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind. But moments later he felt it again, as if a little bug had landed at the tip of his nose. He shook his head, scratched his face, tried to collect himself. But the itch became a pressure beneath his eyes, and before he knew it, a little blast of mucus and moisture escaped at high speed from his nostrils.

He was startled. As far as he was concerned, that was an unprecedented reaction from his body. It took him a dizzying succession of five more outbursts to realize he was in fact _sneezing_ , and that it was a thing human bodies could perform, and not necessarily some kind of deadly malfunction. He cleaned his face with a ragged cloth, and his meditation session went by without further disturbances.

* * *

Later that day, after forcing a protein bar down his throat for dinner, he starts sneezing again. When a headache emerges, mild but persistent, he grows concerned. Ben has no recollection of getting sick, ever. He always had good health, took all mandatory shots, and any condition to afflict him was invariably from bruises and such, and even these things never last too long. From what he remembers, sneezing is caused by allergies, colds and stuff like that. He never had any of those.

He lays on his bed, feeling cold and tired, but these seem to be his usual states nowadays. He’s been at Snoke’s lair for months. He even got his own quarters, next to the fresher he is allowed to use. His head is full of spiky black hair now, all the wounds on his skin are fading, all healed. Ben exercises every day, running long hours around the hangar, and then sparring alone. He still doesn’t have a lightsaber of his own, but he trains with a makeshift he found at the station. After every training shift, Ben meets the old protocol droid to learn the forbidden language in Anakin’s book. In fact, the book is about the history of the Dark Side and its battle against the Jedi. There are short biographies of legendary Sith lords who ruled thousands of years ago, and glimpses of their unnatural practices.

This is Ben’s favorite moment of the day: sitting in front of the nameless droid, still sweaty from all the physical activity, and listening to those stories, fantasizing that one day his own achievements will be described in a book just like that. He also enjoys using an actual pen, with dark ink, to copy the ancient gliphs and learn the runes. Once, the droid praised him for being such a dedicated student, and Ben felt like an idiot realizing that its compliment meant more than all of his uncle’s efforts to educate him.

Supreme Leader Snoke summons him from time to time. The old man asks Ben about the stories from the book, and is gradually abandoning Basic to address Ben solely in the old language, for practice. The boy is always tense around his master but, after the _incident_ with the chain, Snoke didn’t touch Ben inappropriately, nor demanded obscene activities from him, which is a relieve. Ben wonders if that peace will last, curling up beneath his thin sheets, feeling drowsier by the minute. Perhaps he is just fatigued. He has been neglecting meals, and his sleep has been scarcer than ever, restless and full of nightmares. But in his current languor, he just dozes off towards a deep, dreamless slumber.

* * *

Ben wakes up shuddering.

His head appears to weight more than his neck can carry. He sits up, bleary and out of breath. His nose is runny and stuffy, as if he had been crying. His throat is sore, raw; when Ben tries to swallow, he starts to cough until his ribs hurt. His skin tingles, burning hot, but he feels ice cold. Ben can’t leave his bed, his sheets. He longs for the warmer blanket he left in his ship, and uses the Force to fetch some water, but even this easy task seems to deplete the rest of his energy.

 _So, this is what it feels like being sick, physically ill_ , he thinks.

He decides to stay in bed, to go back to sleep, but feels too agitated. His mind wanders, in an eerie state of hyperawareness intertwined with sluggish semi-consciousness. The room suddenly seems full of people. Ben’s eyes are closed, but he hears muffled whispers, little giggles, faint pieces of conversation, and they sound like his fellow students at Luke’s academy. He sits up, startled, but the room is empty. He killed those kids, all of them. He bathed in their blood. He dreams about them almost every night, when he is not dreaming about the terrible things Snoke does to him.

Moaning, Ben covers his head with the pillow. This time, he is sure there’s someone lurking in the shadows of his small chambers. He looks for his long-gone braid, his old amulet, but finds nothing. He ripped it himself, Ben suddenly remebers. He scratches his scalp, and the short hair is like the fur of an unknown animal beneath his shaky fingers. Ben gasps at how unfamiliar his whole body feels.

His bones are heavy as steelstone, his joints are stiffy. This body seems so old, so foreign, but Ben’s mind feels callow and frail. He wants to call for his mother.

Mothers are supposed to take care of a sick child. Even when they’re not only mothers, but princesses, warriors, politicians. Even when they are generals.

Maybe his mother is the person hiding in the shadows. She must have come pick him up. He pulls the tattered pillow away from his head. It has to be her. Ben can feel when she puts the back of her small hand against his forehead. _Come back_ , she says. Or he thinks she says, inside his head. Ben is so sure he can hear her, feel her, but when he opens his blurry eyes, there's no one there.

Maybe he is just delirious. Maybe he is poisoned.

Perhaps Snoke put some disease in him.

* * *

Ben doesn’t know how much time has passed when he opens his eyes and finds Snoke’s droid looming over him.

“Supreme Leader requests your presence. You are already late.”

Ben shakes his head slowly. Is he awake?

“I can’t go. I’m sick”, Ben murmurs.

The droid stares, its huge artificial eyes glowing softly. When it speaks, it’s in the same monotonous inflection: “This is not an invitation you can decline.”

Ben coughs, then sneezes three times in a row, and the world spins around him. He is a sweaty, quivering mess; when he focuses at the droid, it already seems parsecs away. “Tell him… tell master I’m too sick. Please”.

* * *

Ben dreams. He is floating through mist. Sweltering darkness surrounds him, so black it’s like he’s blind. The humidity is a tangible, pressing weight against his chest, but Ben feels hauntingly calm, and wonders if he is dead. Maybe he hasn’t been born yet. This could be a womb, slowly smothering him. He would like to be a stillborn, if he can’t be anybody else. He is too tired of being Ben.

A cool breeze flows along his long limbs, dissipating the uncanny mist carrying his body. When all the fog has been swept away, Ben is left over a cool surface, lying on his back. He is fully conscious at last; the fever has broken. He feels like an empty vessel.

“Because that’s what you are, my boy.” Snoke’s voice hangs on the saturated air, the echo of a bad omen.

Ben turns his head to face his master. Snoke is wearing a black robe, open at the front, and no undergarments. The monstrous organ between his scraggy legs pends down, an oversized crumpled appendage. Ben wants to feel shocked by the vision, but he only feels tired, and isn’t surprised to find out he is naked, too. He can’t move, but no mystical power is pinning him down – the fever stole his vitality.

Supreme Leader, on the contrary, seems to shimmer in the dark room, thrumming with uncontained energy. Snoke approaches Ben slowly, and puts two fingers in his mouth. Ben sucks obediently: anticipating worst things, he coats them with as much saliva as he can. A thought forms in his head, alien and smug: _the boy can be taught_. It’s not like Snoke’s voice in his head; this is different. It’s like thinking with someone else’s brain. Supreme Leader scowls at him, and withdrawals his hand. When Ben gazes at his master, lips parted, panting softly, Snoke smears the boy’s drool across his pale face. A shadow of nausea overclouds him, but Ben manages to shake it off.

Snoke speaks to Ben in the forbidden language, using a low tone. It’s something about hands… or fingers… about touching.

“Touch yourself.”

This command sounds off. Ben looks puzzled at Snoke, wondering if he heard his master right. But Supreme Leader repeats the sentence, and adds the word that means _under_ or _low_ …

“Touch yourself down there.”

Ben flinches. But he doesn’t want to get beaten, he feels so weak. He is sure he won’t tolerate another whipping, not sick like this. He looks at the unknown ceiling. It’s his first time in this particular room, small and lit by flickering indirect lights. Ben lays across a tall table of sorts, made of metal. There are restraints that could bind his wrists and ankles, but he is mercifully unshackled. He sighs, then coughs. His nose is still runny.

Snoke squeezes one of Ben’s nipples, twists it between his fingers until the boy whimpers. Through the stinging pain, though, Ben is able to pull another thought – it feels like catching a noisy bloodfly in mid-air. It is an obscene idea, a clear image of what Snoke wants him to do. Ben hesitates. A strange word seems to cling to the lewd tableau from his master’s head – it’s the Sith word for this thing Snoke requires from him. Ben can’t think of anything in Basic to attach to the image, but of course he understands the _act_. “Everybody does it”, his father said once, during a very uncomfortable talk years ago; “It’s supposed to be normal”. Ben used to enjoy thinking he’d surpassed this kind of animalistic urge. Those things were for bestial men like Han.

And yet here he is, at the outskirts of the galaxy, where the only “normal” thing is being defiled regularly by a bestial old fiend. Slowly, Ben lets his own right hand hover near his belly, then creep a little lower. He touches the soft curly hair in his groins, and closes his eyes when he feels tears welling up. Ben never touched himself like this before. He deliberately ignored it when he got hard, figuring out his body would take care of it eventually. There’s nothing but fear in his clumsy, tentative caresses.

It goes on for some time. Ben tries to recreate the image he peeked at Snoke’s mind, but can’t make himself hard. He understands these things require some pleasure; he feels none. Specially like this. His body aches, the fever is catching up. If anything, Ben wants it all to end. He senses Supreme Leader impatience, but is also acutely aware that he is not a young boy indulging in naïve hedonism. Ben is the agent of his own desecration, in Snoke’s twisted fantasy.

“If it doesn’t work, we’ll have to cut it off”, Snoke says. The threat is made in Basic.

On a whim, Ben rises to his elbows, and grabs his mater’s hand.

Then puts it _there_.

“Do it to me”, Ben whispers.

Snoke seems pleasantly surprised, and shoves Ben back to the table. His master’s hand is rough, calloused, and he grabs Ben and strokes him, up and down, squeezing with light pressure. Ben is surprised by the lack of pain in Snoke’s touch, and breathes harder. Tears escape silently from his eyes. When Ben gets hard, he feels betrayed by every fiber of his being. Somehow, this is almost worse than being the passive victim of Snoke’s ruthless passions.

Crude images flood Ben’s mind. It’s himself, from Snoke’s point of view: that first day at the hangar, bent and broken against the floor, getting slammed from behind, crying, bleeding. He doesn’t know if he is stealing those memories from Snoke, or if his master is sending them to him. Ben tries to count the blinking lights at the walls, but his vision is blurred from the tears, and he can’t escape from the torrent of torture ravaging his thoughts. But, even then, his body is disgustingly responsive to Supreme Leader’s touch.

At some point, Ben is pushed to the end of the metallic table, and Snoke positions himself between Ben’s legs, spreading the boy’s knees. Ben’s face burns when the fever returns, searing hot, reclaiming his consciousness, softening his disgraceful erection. But Ben can’t close his eyes, or the visions of his past violations get worse. He gazes unfocused at Snoke. Supreme Leader spits in one of his hands, and slicks Ben’s entrance. It’s not enough. Snoke’s engorged organ is pushed mercilessly against any resistance, and Ben sees himself through Snoke’s eyes: split open and bloody.

“I’ll do it to you”, Snoke hisses, contemptuous; “and you will take everything, and enjoy it.”

All the images vanish from Ben’s mind, then, and he is left with only his feverish dizziness. Snoke takes Ben’s cock and makes it hard again, while pounding unrelenting into him. Ben radiates a sickly heat. His muscles seem to melt around his bones, he is all limp, except for his cock in his master’s hand. He can’t fight against whatever it is that Snoke is actually doing to him. Something terrible builds up inside Ben’s belly, from the unbearable pressure of Snoke inside his ass, stretching and tearing, up until the firm grip from the ghoulish hand around his cock.

Everything coils up, as if Ben is going to implode like a nascent black hole. When he cries out, he really spurts, a white burst of come that cools over his belly. He involuntarily clenches around Snoke’s cock, and his master buries his decrepit self as deep as possible into Ben, and fills him up. Ben whimpers, feeling scorched, breathless. With the tip of a finger, Snoke takes some of Ben’s come from his abdomen, and makes the boy swallow it. Ben tastes himself unwillingly; it’s salty and faintly sour.

Ben sneezes. Snoke laughs with cruelty, and pulls his cock out, dripping come. Ben’s legs are spread wider, and Snoke examines the passageway he just impaled. He slides a finger in, and carefully scoops some fluid out. Snoke makes Ben lick it, too. It tastes poisonous on Ben’s tongue, bitter and iron-like. Supreme Leader waves his hand, and uses the Force to make Ben sits up. But the fever is at its highest, now, and the boy collapses against the table, barely keeping his eyes open, shivering.

Snoke grabs Ben’s chin and makes him look at his old, scarred face. Supreme Leader licks Ben’s tears, and abruptly shoves his disgusting tongue down the boy’s mouth. Ben’s arms fall to his sides, he can’t fight the repugnant kiss.

Ben has never been kissed before. When Snoke’s tongue meets his, Ben feels thoroughly corrupted. Snoke tastes like a rancid corpse; his saliva makes a gooey mess, viscous and nauseating. Ben’s body never felt like a true sanctuary, but now it’s just a crumbling ruin, ransacked, destroyed. He mewls against Snoke, feebly trying to pull away from this final desecration, but it lasts for a long time.

When Snoke releases him, he curls around himself like a little ball, aghast, quivering. He wishes to die. He feels dead already. Supreme Leader pets Ben’s head one more time and speaks softly before leaving: “you were such a good boy. You deserve a new name. I will call you… Kylo.”

Ben is left weeping for the last time, and he cries until he passes out, exhausted.

Kylo awakes in Ben’s bed, still feeling sick.

At least he doesn't sneeze.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snoke keeps pushing his apprentice to the edge, and now their training sessions go even darker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the most graphic chapter so far. Please check the warnings beforehand, and don't read it unless you're sure you can be safe.
> 
> Please let me know what you think. Should I keep writing?

 

 

Kylo is literally freezing.

Tiny ice crystals cover his arms and his face, clinging to his eyelashes. He doesn’t have a proper suit on, and open space is so cold, stealing all the warmth from his body. His lungs feel tight, ready to burst from the lack of air. He doesn’t know how long he can take out here.

He is drifting meters away from the station’s secondary entrance. There’s a safety cable there, floating idly near the hatch from where he was ejected. It looks like a snake about to attack.

This is another of his master’s grueling exercises. Kylo is supposed to use the force to summon the cable, wrap it around his own waist, press the retrieval button at the end of it, and then get pulled inside so he can breathe. He's done it before a lot of times, but he never stayed out for so long, and now his head throbs in maddening pulses.

Kylo knows all it takes is one attempt to draw breath, one gasp, and desperation will set in. He will drown in the void if he gets too distraught. _Focus_ , he thinks. He is waiting for Snoke’s voice inside his mind, telling him it’s time to come back, but all Kylo can hear in his brain are the echoes of his own anxious pleas to himself: _stay. the fuck. calm_.

He knows it’s been no longer than a minute, but this feels like a years-long journey. While in open space, things move in slow motion. He used to be terrified of the black wilderness overhead, the frightening promise of suffocation engulfing his body like his master’s hands around his throat.

But now he just feels angry, trying to fight unconsciousness away.

He’s been training with Supreme Leader for almost two years and, although he is still subjected to Snoke’s more disgusting demands, he can’t deny there’s been a lot of improvement. Kylo became stronger, tougher, a better warrior – and even some sort of a petulant young scholar, devouring Snoke’s ancient books and holo-records. Kylo wonders what Luke would think of that.

No. Luke is dead. He belongs to Ben’s past. And Kylo isn’t that weak little boy anymore.

Ben’s childish melancholy slowly became Kylo’s barely contained rage, simmering inside him all the time. Perhaps this wrath is the only thing keeping him from turning into frozen space debris, as it blazes within his chest. But like all flammable substances, anger is hard to control. Kylo is even more volatile than moody Ben, and violence has ensued most often.

That’s how he ended up with a fractured kyber crystal, after bleeding his formerly green one. In a fit of desperate fury, he crushed the little rock in the palm of his hand, applying pressure with the Force. It cracked like an eggshell, and Supreme Leader himself had to contain the damage and secure the crystal. Kylo thought Snoke would pummel him to pieces for breaking it, but Snoke barely scolded him. Supreme Leader seemed to enjoy these outbursts.

It took Kylo weeks of research to figure out how to use the unstable crystal to power a lightsaber. He had just settled for a curious design dating back to the Scourge of Malachor when Snoke called him for airlock practice, earlier today. Kylo imagines his crystal, thinking about how the damned thing had finally bled out, red at last… like his eyes feel now, stinging after all this time outside. But he should stop reminiscing. He must focus. The station is so close, all it’d take to come back is a simple hand wave, but he cannot do it. He must wait for Snoke’s orders.

And it’s terrifying to wait for any instructions from Snoke. After all this time, Kylo still struggles with what his master requires of him. Snoke can go from friendly teacher to detached master, and then an outright monster, in a matter of minutes. Supreme Leader seems to be always plotting new ways to terrorize and humiliate Kylo, and then call it “training”.

He must believe Supreme Leader won’t kill his dedicated apprentice. Not now, when he is learning so much. When he finally doesn’t think of himself as Ben anymore. _Feel your anger_ , Kylo coaches himself. _Inhale it. Let it warm you_.

 _Let it become the only sustenance you need_.

The stars around Kylo seem to flicker and fade, until everything goes dark. The station disappears from his view and, when nothing else remains, he sees himself from a distance, glowing faintly with a crimson hue, surrendered to nothingness. He looks small and lifeless.

Something pricks into Kylo’s brain, the pinching feeling he gets when he realizes he’s no longer confined in his own mind. He isn’t imagining things; he is seeing through Snoke’s eyes again, stealing this vision from Supreme Leader. Kylo can do that, from time to time. He can pick up images, feelings, even whole thoughts if he tries hard enough – and this is the first time he’s able to pluck something so far away from Snoke. He feels his master’s delight in his suffering, and wants to recoil from it. But there is also a bit of pride – Snoke is pleased at Kylo’s attempt to protect himself by summoning the darkest shades of the Force.

And then Kylo feels like being ejected again, but this time from Snoke’s head.

Going back to his own thoughts is agonizing. Kylo is trapped in the void, tortured by prolonged apnea. When life is but a moment away from being snatched from Kylo, he hears it: Supreme Leader’s voice, loud and clear as if the old man were standing right beside him.

“It is time.”

* * *

When Snoke’s droid finds Kylo, the safety cable is still wrapped around his waist. Kylo lies on his back, eyes closed, panting, limbs splayed across the hangar’s floor. He is cold and wet, his damp hair plastered to his forehead, and he doesn’t even move while the droid detaches the cable. He feels so tired, and yet he is starving.

Back when he was Ben, he rarely felt any hunger, and could spent days with nothing but a protein bar here and there. But now he never skips a meal, and is always after the protocol droid looking for more rations. Kylo is broader, gained another inch. He is trying to become a man, so that he can bury the boy he was in the deepest recesses of his self, to be forsaken and forgotten.

There’s something menacing about his figure now, with his seemingly still growing height, and building muscles. Kylo struggles to appreciate his own size and frame, but every time he feels good about himself, some terrible task from Snoke sends him down the pit of self-loathing again. Every time Kylo indulges in feeling powerful, a fully-grown warrior, his master is there to remind him Ben somehow lives, afraid and submissive.

Nevertheless, Kylo knows well enough this is how dark siders train. One must be pushed to the edge again and again, in order to cultivate and distill the hate, then turn it into raw, untamed power. Even if most of the time it just feels unbearable. Exhausting.

Without opening his eyes, Kylo asks the droid for food. He can hear the whir of its joints when it tosses something in his direction. Kylo just grabs the package in the air with perfect reflexes, eyelids still shut _._ He peeks at the droid, and it gives him another portion of crackers before turning to go. Taking his time, Kylo sits on the floor, cross-legged, biting at the bland protein biscuits.

“Thanks”, Kylo says, mouth full of crumbs as he watches the droid leave. He smiles bitterly when his mother’s frowning face comes to his mind, to remind him of his manners. Her impassive gaze lingers, and he feels like an 8-year-old again, hurt and sulking after being chastised for not eating with his mouth properly shut, or forgetting to follow some other irrelevant etiquette bullshit.

She’d reprimand the cursing as well. Kylo wonders what she would say about him murdering his classmates, leaving her brother to die, and cohabiting with a maniac wizard who sexually assaults him and… his eyes go wide, he swallows slowly. This is _not_ what’s happening. He is not being assaulted. He is not a victim, he is an apprentice. He is just being tested. Supreme Leader is wise with his gifts: pain, rage, despair; all keys to the dark side. The mere memory of his mother is already twisting Kylo’s thoughts. Alarmed, he runs one hand through his tangled hair.

Kylo is just finishing the second packet of crackers when he senses something approaching. A shiver runs down his spine. The thing is big.

A ship.

He freezes in place, and another image fills his mind. The vision is clear enough: a modern vessel maneuvering swiftly towards the station, and then docking not very far from the transport Kylo used to come to Snoke. He can’t identify the pilot or the crew, and wonders if his master has called for another apprentice.

“Perhaps I should have, you foolish boy.” Snoke says in his low voice.

Kylo is startled by Supreme Leader’s close presence. The boy hadn’t felt it. How long has the old man been there? Snoke looks down at Kylo and waves one hand, lifting his apprentice with the Force, choking him with incorporeal fingers. Anger pours from Kylo’s chest down to his gut, and his heart starts to race. He knows how this goes: get naked, endure horrible things, wish to be dead when Snoke is done. The last time is still fresh in his memory.

The last time was the time when he cracked his crystal. It had been particularly awful. And as Snoke chokes him now, everything comes back to Kylo’s memory as if a deluge of venom has been released inside him. That day, Kylo was supposed to clutch at his kyber crystal for an entire cycle of torture, so his darker feelings would impregnate the rock with a ruby-red hue. In the end, Snoke made him kneel, and forced himself into Kylo’s mouth. It felt so brutal Kylo cried like Ben, hating himself for not enduring it like a _man_.

When Supreme Leader emptied his load at Kylo’s throat, and the boy thought his torment would finally be over, Snoke turned his back to Kylo, and ordered him to suck at his sickening, repulsive hole. The thought of licking Snoke there were nauseating enough, but his master also wanted Kylo to touch himself while doing it.

He wanted Kylo to enjoy the humiliation.

But it was too much. Snoke pushed Kylo with the Force, sinking him nose-deep into the filthiest place of his master’s ruined body. Kylo tried so hard to do as Snoke demanded, but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t. The smell and the violence, and the mad threats coming from Snoke, it was overwhelming. It felt like his first day at the station: the terror, the shock, the shame. Except this time everything was laced with an anger Kylo hadn’t known until that moment.

He got sick all over himself and his master, gagging, struggling to breath, kept in place by the Force. And through all of this he held the kyber crystal as tight as possible, as if letting it go would sever his connection to life itself. When the crystal cracked, Kylo felt like the bones in his entire arm had cracked was well. If Snoke had taken another moment to realize what was going on, they would both be dead, scorched by an exploding kyber crystal.

But there is no crystal to hold, now. Snoke is not even choking him that hard.

Supreme Leader smirks, then drops him to the floor, but Kylo manages not to fall.

“I know you’ve sensed the ship. I have guests,” Snoke says in Basic, then adds: “as a matter of fact, they are here for you.”

“Master, I don’t understand.” Kylo voice is hoarse, breathless.

“You will, soon enough. It will be hard, so do not disappoint me.”

Dread coats Kylo like a second skin he can’t shed, and an ominous feeling oozes through his veins. The ship from his vision finally appears beyond the magnetic field protecting the hangar’s entrance. It’s a large transport, with no visible identifying marks, although it resembles an old Imperial lambda-class shuttle. It docks with slow precision a few meters away from them.

Kylo straightens himself, his hands curling into fists at each side of his body. Snoke looks like a drying corpse wrapped in regal shroud, staring passionless at the ship. When its ramp finally opens, a tall human clad in black armor descends. Others follow, until there are seven of them. Kylo can’t know for sure, but they don’t seem to be Force-sensitive. They’re all dressed in black, concealed by different masks, and carrying an assorted selection of weaponry: blasters, staffs, blades, vibroblades. There are no lightsabers in sight. Kylo can feel they are anxious about something.

The stampede of their heavy boots echoes through the hangar, and they circle Kylo and Snoke in an intimidating manner. It feels unnerving. The tallest of the strange warriors, who appears to be their leader, takes a step closer and kneels in front of Snoke.

“You arrived early, Meeka.” Snoke says in a neutral tone.

“We came as soon as you called, Supreme Leader. We are avid to test your new apprentice”. Meeka’s voice sounds robotic but male, distorted by the vocoder in his mask. Kylo immediately envies it. He might be wearing Snoke’s old garments now, but soon enough he’ll be armored, wearing a battle helm, and wielding his new lightsaber.

“Kylo will be more of a challenge, I’m sure. Where is the artifact?” Snoke asks, still no emotion in his voice.

Meeka stands up and nods to one of his companions, who takes a small black box from his backpack and deferentially gives it to Snoke. Supreme Leader waves his hand in what seems like measured ceremony, and the box opens. A piece of black leather floats from it, and the man holding the box carefully closes the small container and puts it away.

Snoke turns to Kylo.

“This is an ancient Sith mask, my boy.” Kylo flinches when Snoke calls him a boy in front of all the others, but his master seems unamused. “It blocks one’s connection to the Force completely. It’s a great instrument to teach resilience and resourcefulness. For this test, you won’t be able to use your special abilities.”

Kylo have read about such implements in Snoke’s books. Masks like that were used to train the Siths of old, but also to torture Jedi. He feels cold sweat trickles down his neck when Snoke approaches him, and covers his head with the mask. It goes all the way to his chin, with one hole for his mouth and two for his nostrils. It’s snug and terribly uncomfortable, but the heat and humidity aren’t the worse.

Losing the Force is like losing a limb, going blind, deaf and mute at the same time. He feels dizzy, and bites hard at his bottom lip not to scream, but feels the panick building up. Soon he is hyperventilating. He’d rather spend a month in open space than another second in this hell, but before he can pull the mask off himself, someone grabs his hands and pulls them behind his back. His clothes are ripped from his body. Rags are shoved down his mouth, and he hears his own muffled screams and pleads.

“The first part of the test consists in surviving” Snoke says, already far from his apprentice.

They are so many, Kylo can’t fight them. They knock him down to the floor, on his back. Someone pulls his arms above his head, pinning his wrists to the ground. Without the Force, he’s fragile and weak. He is even more pathetic than Ben. He tries to kick them away, but they grab his legs, pulling them apart, exposing him. Soon there’s a heavy body above him, smothering Kylo. He is suddenly, painfully filled to his core, brutalized again. This man seems even more ruthless than Snoke, faster, more aggressive. Kylo feels his own tears soaking the mask.

Another pair of hands, gloved ones, pinches his nipples, twisting them so hard Kylo is able to spit out the rags they used as a gag when he screams. They laugh, and hit his face to quiet him down. Then someone covers Kylo’s mouth and his nose with big hands. They cut his air supply long enough for the man thrusting into him come and pull out from Kylo’s body. When they let Kylo breathe again, gasping and coughing, another man quickly replaces the first one between his legs.

“Shit, there’s so much come and blood in here I won’t feel anything”, the next man says when he plunges into Kylo. He goes as deep as possible then pops out, only to breach Kylo’s resistance again, more savagely each time, until Kylo begs him to stop. That’s when the other ones resume their sick choking game. This feels like a nightmare. He understands why Snoke must do these things to him, but why is Supreme Leader handing him to these other men? Who are they? Without the Force to assist him, he can’t even try and steal information from them. This isolation from the most sacred power in the universe is a punishment he is sure he doesn’t deserve from Supreme Leader.

Rage and disgust boil inside him, but Kylo is helpless. He can think coherently when they keep bringing him almost to the point of collapse. The second man also comes, and when he leaves, his seed leaks and pools beneath Kylo, who is then turned on his stomach.

Kylo tries to scape, frantic and clumsy, crazily trying to take off the mask, but they grab him with ease. Someone lifts his waist then pulls his arms, and he feels when his wrists are tied against his back, probably with pieces of his own torn clothes. Kylo feels a foot pressing his neck down to the floor. There’s a man behind him, and he slaps Kylo’s ass before putting two fingers inside him.

“You’ve ruined him, Curiel. I told you, you should go last.” But Kylo barely hears their crude remarks, their arrogant laughter. He feels engulfed by pain and hatred. Inside his mind, he is clawing with mad rage at the walls where the Sith mask has sealed him, trying to find a slit from which he can reconnect with the Force. But he is isolated, cut off.

The boot feels heavier on Kylo’s neck while he’s taken from behind. His tears burn his closed eyes and he cries out with each thrust, but he stops with the begging. There is no point.

Someone is still furiously pounding against him when the boot steps out of his neck, and another attacker lifts his head and forces a huge cock inside his mouth. “If you bite, I’ll kill you”, the man threatens him.

It’s Meeka, Kylo is sure. Meeka is the one he hates the most. Their leader. The one eager to _test_ Snoke’s new apprentice. Meeka probably has done this to other boys, the ones who failed… and Kylo decides he will kill him first. He doesn’t bite Meeka, though, and soon is drooling and gagging, gasping for air. He feels drivel run down his chin, his neck and chest. Meeka comes at the back of Kylo’s throat, pushing as deep as possible, choking him. When he pulls out, Kylo is retching.

Meeka slaps him hard.

“You’re disgusting. Having the Force doesn’t make you less of a disgraceful, sloppy little bitch.” Meeka says, laughing. And then, he speaks to the man fucking Kylo’s ass: “Come on, Arthon, come already. He just made a mess, let’s move him closer to our ship”. After Arthon finally comes, grunting and grabbing at Kylo’s hips, they drag Kylo’s battered body through the floor, to a cleaner corner of the hangar. Once there, Meeka is quickly on top of Kylo, plowing mercilessly into him, using his hands to further torment Kylo by wringing his throat, while instigating the rest of the men to torture Snoke’s little apprentice.

The group takes turns defiling Kylo, in what feels like an endless demonstration of every violent depravity in the galaxy. Meeka is always the cruelest, and most vulgar of his ravagers. He has the stamina to attack Kylo three more times before deciding he’s had enough from the boy. He even indulges in the same debauchery Snoke attempted in his last session with Kylo, but this time there is no Force connection Kylo can cast to enhance his own strenght. He is all alone, so he submits to the heinous task, licking Meeka with hateful disgust.

When they finish with him, Kylo is a beaten, dirty mess lying on the floor, covered in come and blood, panting and weeping softly. Meeka carefully ties him up, so it’s impossible for him to take the mask off alone. But Kylo wouldn’t.

He knows better. He feels like drifting in outer space, staring at a safety cable: in order to get back inside and breathe, he must wait for his master’s orders.

So, he does.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The training continues, as the warriors summoned by Supreme Leader Snoke puts his little apprentice to test...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please keep in mind this a violent story, with lots of graphic details and triggering elements. Reader discretion in mandatory! I'm tagging as I go.
> 
> I'd love to hear your insights and opinions.

 

 

The continuous slap of flesh against flesh sounds grotesque, intertwined with rough grunts, occasional laughter, and Kylo’s own muffled whimpering. These are the only sounds echoing throughout the hangar while he kneels on the floor, bound and naked, surrendered to his attackers. The ordeal resumed hours ago, or so it seems. Kylo has lost track of time, confined in the black mask Supreme Leader used to bereave the boy of his connection to the Force.

Kylo keeps his eyes closed: opening them is useless behind the leather hood snugly adhered to his face. But his mouth is stretched wide around an unknown cock, as one of Meeka’s men pushes it into Kylo’s throat in lazy, poorly aimed thrusts, smearing saliva and hurting Kylo’s already swollen lips. Another man fucks him from behind, twisting Kylo’s tied-up wrists against the small of his back, bending his arms painfully. The man goes as deep as possible, but his pace is slow and somewhat erratic.

They are getting tired, Kylo thinks. And probably running out of stims as well. He feels exhausted, muscles strained and aching. His skin burns, sticky with sweat and other fluids that envelop him like a film of poison, like the slime of a Hutt.

He thinks of his mother. _Ben’s_ mother. She killed a Hutt once, when she was young. At least that’s what Ben’s father said, in a drunken confession that seems to have taken place eons ago.

She is so tiny, it doesn’t even seem possible. Perhaps it was a lie. She told him so many lies, even though the story of Jabba the Hutt and his palace on a desert planet seemed true enough when Ben was a child. And she didn’t seem eager to tell him, not at all. She merely confirmed the story, scolding Han for not keeping his mouth shut. She never liked talking to Ben about her time fighting wars.

Either way, it doesn’t matter.

Still, it seems blasphemous to think of her now; obscene, even. But he can’t help it. Fresh tears sting his eyes, as Kylo desperately tries to banish the woman from his thoughts. He is losing his mind. He falls further into the darkest places of himself, feeling less like a person and more like a wounded beast, slowly bleeding from hundreds of non-fatal injuries, raging in helplessness. And she is there, too. Mother. Ben’s mother. Kylo can see her in his mind. She is trying to stop the blood, her white gown going crimson. She thinks she can soothe the beast that is now her son, to bring him back.

She doesn’t know it’s too late.

When a bitter splash of come gushes through his lips, Kylo is almost grateful to have something else dragging him out of his thoughts. Kylo is held in place as the man fills him up, then quickly pulls out to grab Kylo by the chin, covering his mouth, and forcing him to swallow. Then he pushes Kylo backwards, against the attacker fucking his ass. This one manages to let go of Kylo’s wrists only to catch him on a stranglehold across the neck and chest. Kylo squirms, choking and coughing, his throat firmly restrained by the man behind him.

“I will tear you apart, little prince,” the man whispers in his ear, and the voice is clear enough even through the mask.

Meeka. He is the last one inside Kylo, still torturing him.

Kylo stiffens his body, groans, but Meeka chokes him harder and speeds up, searing his cock into Kylo with no mercy.

“What? You think we didn’t know? We chased you down for Supreme Leader. I know everything about you, Ben Solo…” Meeka says, sounding very proud of himself.

Hatred and shame melt and fuse inside Kylo’s ribs, saturating his lungs, his heart, his guts. He writhes within Meeka’s hold, loathing his intruder. Kylo’s head throbs, pulsing with a strange energy that yearns to be poured into the universe; to be reunited with the flow of the Force so it can come back at Kylo’s disposal, to be wielded for destructive glory.

But the mask is an unsurmountable barrier, withholding Kylo’s connection to this part of himself that he’s been taking for granted, at least up until now. He sobs quietly in frustrated agony, every cell in his battered body longing to be reconciled with the vital limb the mask severed from him. Meeka’s hold tightens and Kylo gasps for air, unconsciousness lurking from an up-close abyss.

Kylo is barely cognizant when Meeka finally comes, releasing the chokehold to clutch at Kylo’s shoulders, grunting and laughing as he unloads to depletion. But Meeka keeps moving, each thrust pushing some of his seed out. Come drips down Kylo’s trembling thighs, but the boy barely has time to acknowledge the overflowing mess he’s become: he is rudely turned around, then pushed to the floor on his back, falling over his bound arms and crying out in pain.

Meeka climbs on top of Kylo, between his damp legs, and pushes two fingers inside him, producing wet little noises that are a testament to the copious amount of semen still inside him. Kylo blushes behind the mask, clenches reflexively around the intruding digits. That’s so like Ben it’s mortifying, infuriating. Meeka snorts and withdrawals, using his soaked fingers to tug at the black hair on Kylo’s groins until the boy lets out a snivel, wriggling tiredly from the touch.

Viscous fingertips run across Kylo’s belly and chest, stopping at the one of his nipples, pinching and twisting, then moving to the other to repeat the torture. Kylo pants and whimpers, but doesn’t say a word.

 “You know, you’re not even the first. I’ve been testing Supreme Leaders apprentices for a long time, now” Meeka says, softly, but still gloating. In a way, Meeka is even worse than Snoke: he is not a Force user, he is not Kylo’s master. He is just a man, disgusting and presumptuous. Kylo feels nauseated when Meeka licks him, from the sternum to his neck, slowly, sopping, relishing into it with his coarse tongue.

One of Meeka’s dirty fingers invades Kylo’s mouth. It tastes like come, and blood, and death. Kylo turns his head to the side, away from the finger, refusing to acknowledge the flavor of his own defilement any longer. Meeka just laughs, further crawling onto him, putting his elbows besides each of Kylo’s ears, pinning the boy’s head inside this wicked embrace that feels like a trap.

“But I’ll give you this, little prince: you’re the first to endure it for so long without asking for mercy,” Meeka says, “but I bet you will. Eventually. And I’ll be glad to be the one to put you out of your misery.”

Then Meeka’s tongue ravages through Kylos lips, thirsty and vicious, and Kylo feels annihilated, so small – even though he’s been called _little prince_ , he feels like a little slave. Meeka shoves his tongue inside Kylo’s mouth with the same violence he used to plunge his cock, seemingly wanting to drown him in saliva the same way he is already drenched in come.

Kylo stays motionless, even when he feels Meeka trying to coax some action out of his tongue. But Kylo doesn’t want to take any part of this, no more than he already had, and refuses to respond to Meeka’s swirling around in his mouth. As a matter of fact, somehow this seems more awful than all the other things they’ve done to him, and he wants to laugh madly at how fucked up this is, because to think that a kiss can be worse than sucking a stranger’s prick or taking one up the ass is truly and insanely fucked up. But Kylo is thoroughly fucked up by now, mind and body and soul.

And then something mingles with Meeka’s spit, warm and coppery in taste. It’s Kylo’s own blood. He has been bitten, so hard he whimpers, but it almost doesn’t hurt when Meeka sucks at his bottom lip like a crazed hematophagous creature, and Kylo wonders if Snoke is still watching them.

“Enough”, Supreme Leader commands. Snoke’s timing is startling.

Kylo gasps when Meeka leaves him, blood filling his mouth. He keeps very quiet, and shudders when his tongue goes to the split on his lip. Did Snoke hear him through the mask? Kylo isn’t sure if the Force-blocking works both ways, and doesn’t want to ask. He chews softly at the bruised lip, trying to make the blood clot.

When Kylo is raised to his feet with a gentle incorporeal push, he’s surprised by Snoke’s carefulness, even more than by the soft brush of the Force after such an excruciating interval devoid of it. He must look truly ruined if his master took pity of him. He’s been craving for some thread of benevolence from Supreme Leader, but now that he’s got it, he just feels weak and angry. Kylo spits on the floor and pushes his shoulders back, straightening his posture, clinging to any shredded remain of dignity he can gather. _I survived,_ he thinks.

 _I passed the test_.

Faint steps surround Kylo, he can sense some movement. He just stays frozen in place, waiting amidst the rushed but silent activity around him. He grows impatient; he is a cauldron of fear, anger, hate, and suffering, all laced with shame, at the brink of boiling over. He wants to break something again, to shatter a precious thing, like he did to his kyber crystal, or to Luke’s school. He wants to dissolve into these feelings, to be consumed by the darkness where Snoke threw him.

No. Where he willingly nose-dived.

Kylo wants to bathe in it, to liquefy into it, and then be remade by the Dark Side as the best version of himself, proven and jaded, brutal and cold-blooded. Like Supreme Leader Snoke.

Or like Darth Vader. Even naked and bleeding, covered in crusted come and spit, he wants to be as powerful as his grandfather, the most ruthless man the galaxy has ever known.

He smells Snoke putrid stench before he can feel Supreme Leader’s cold hands on his shoulders, then sliding languidly down his arms, to yank at the bondages on Kylo’s wrists. When the blood can flow freely to his hands, Kylo shudders from the tingling feeling.

“The second part of the test, my boy, consists in _not killing_ ,” Snoke says, emphasizing the last two words, and in a few heartbeats the mask is gone from Kylo’s face. He blinks, the lights hurt his eyes. He inhales deeply, rage building up inside him like the Death Star preparing to fire and obliterate Alderaan. He is a weapon, and he is oh so ready to fire.

Circling him are Meeka’s warriors, all dressed and hidden behind their black garments and helms. Kylo’s fists curl until he can feel his nails digging at the palms of his hands. Blood pours from his lip again, dripping down his chin. He knows part of his sweaty hair is clinging to his forehead, but the rest is tangled from the mask; he must look like a mad man. He feels mad. The Force washes over him like lava, burning and roaring in his ears.

 _Do it, do it, do it,_ it sings, or he chants to himself, mesmerized by the power that crackles through his body, from his frantic heart to the tiniest molecule of his being, all attuned to the frequency of this thing that is bigger than everything he’s ever experienced, a sizzling red ember burning with inextinguishable fire inside an ocean of darkness.

Kylo smiles and steps forward, raises his right hand. The warriors clothes flutter, billowing to some supernatural wind, but the men don’t move. Kylo is holding them in place. He can break them if he wants to. And he does; so, so much. He never felt this before. This hunger. This craving.

Bloodlust.

He watches, completely delighted, when all of the warriors bring their hands to their necks, trying to fight Kylo’s Force fingers away from their crushing throats. It’s exquisite. The hair on Kylo’s skin rises, his flesh is smoldering, his bones are like incandescent durasteel. Like this, he is the perfect channel for the Force, all fire and passion, all rage. What Snoke has to steal from him at every torture session, now comes naturally, like a blessing from the dark, like an awakening: blood rushes to his groins, to his heavy testicles and then filling up his shaft, and he fears he might actually explode.

He looks down, amazed at his own body, seeing his hard cock pointing up from its nest of dark, curly hair.

And he laughs.

He laughs and laughs, so hard, so hot, and one of Meeka’s warriors, the one who carried the box with the mask, drops to his knees, squirming to free himself from Kylo’s death grip.

Kylo has never killed on his own volition before. The murders of his schoolmates were orchestrated by Supreme Leader. But this… this will be solely himself. He feels seven necks about to snap at the tips of his fingers.

But then he remembers. The test.

He cannot fail it.

 _No killing_ , Kylo whispers to himself, inside his brain, his lips moving without sound. _No killing_. But it’s so hard, he wants it so bad, never wanted anything like this. He earned this, he deserves to take their lives for what they did to him. But he knows he can’t, he mustn’t, he has orders to follow.

 _Don’t fail the test_.

He falls to his knees too, exhausted, still fully erected, and all the warriors still standing up fall in tandem with him, all of them panting, some dragging themselves away from Snoke’s apprentice as if Kylo were really made of smoldering lava. He sobs, tears run down his cheeks and he cries, a feral sound. Everything trembles and clatters, from Kylo’s scattered boots somewhere on the floor to the docked ships, and the hangar goes dark.

* * *

Kylo wakes up naked, still filthy, lying on the floor of his quarters. Snoke’s protocol droid looms over him – a familiar view.

“I brought you organic nutrients. Meals,” it says, offering him two large sets of rations. “It’s the good stuff,” it adds, reproducing the way Kylo talked about the special rations once. They’re big and varied, complete with dessert.

He is so hungry, but the emptiness inside his chest isn’t just from the lack of food. He thinks about what happened, his bruised body a living proof of the worst test Snoke has put him through, at least until now. He shudders, and accepts the traits from the droid.

He feels ashamed. He looks at his soft cock, wondering why it got so hard before, and why it felt so good, even after everything Meeka and the others did to him. But now this malignancy seems out of reach, and dangerous, and he regrets going after it, horrified. He is no stranger to wrath, to fury, but calculated evil still terrorizes him. It is a weakness, he knows that.

He thinks of Ben’s family. He thinks of that day at Luke’s school. He should’ve killed his former master. And yet. Yet.

He weeps, softly, curling on the floor again, cradling the food. Snoke’s droid blinks, but doesn’t say anything. He’s grown accustomed to see him cry. But then the void inside Kylo is suddenly filled with lukewarm light. He is no longer a piece of ember glowing in the dark: the glow itself is calling upon him, saying his old name. He can feel it clearly, the pull to the light.

Kylo stands up fast, enraged, the Force surging out of him like a wave, taking everything in its wake. The outburst of energy is strong enough to knock the droid against the wall, cracking one of his eyes. The food trays explode in a cloud of dust that hovers in the air for a few seconds before hitting the floor. Everything that isn’t made of metal is thorn into pieces.

He stands at the epicenter of chaos, breathless, with a terrible headache and a nosebleed. When Kylo is able to focus again, he sees the damaged droid trying to stand and runs to it, tears already pouring down.

“I’m sorry, droid, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it…” his voice sounds small, childish like, and he doesn’t dare using the Force to help raise his mechanical friend, his only friend. The impact must have broken the speakers, and droid blinks its functional eye.

“I’m good with machines, I can fix you, there’s a workshop, we’ll find spare parts…” Kylo mumbles, as he tries to bring the droid to the small table that miraculously survived the Force-push. The droid’s cracked eye falls off, shattering on the floor. Kylo frantically picks up the shards, apologizing, ignoring the need to cover himself up, until the sliding door opens. He is not allowed to keep it locked.

When he turns, he sees Snoke, standing there in his golden robes, emotionless, smelling worse than ever. Kylo takes a step back, recoiling, lamenting his own nudity, but too afraid to summon the sheet over his rumpled bed and use it as cover. He stares at Supreme Leader long enough to remember he is not supposed to stare.

“The Light. It calls to you” Snoke says, flatly, and his tone makes it clear he doesn’t expect Kylo to answer. “But you’ve fought it. I’ve sensed it. The push.” Supreme Leader adds, acknowledging the destruction on Kylo’s room. The boy just nods.

“Meeka and his warriors are part of your training, now. There is no point to keep you here, isolated. You will be one of his men. They call themselves Knights of Ren. You know the word, from the ancient Sith language. During missions, he will be your master.”

Kylo nods again.

Snoke glares at him for a moment before saying in a cold tone: “Clean yourself up. Clean this disgusting mess in your quarters. Then dismantle the droid for parts. I have other models.”

Kylo opens his mouth but still doesn’t say anything, his lips trembling, tears welling in his eyes. Snoke turns and leaves before Kylo is able to explain that he can fix the droid, that he’s a good mechanic, that he tinkered with droids, and ships, since he was a little kid.

He finally uses the Force put the sheet around his waist, and then to put the droid over the table. The way it just sags there is disheartening. Kylo sighs, letting the tears roll silently down his cheeks, in a little stream that trickles down to his chest.

“I’m truly sorry, my friend” he laments in a cracked voice, and powers the droid down.

It goes away without a sound.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo continues his painful path towards the Dark Side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is pretty graphic, full of triggering elements. Reader discretion is mandatory!
> 
> I'm sorry it took me so long to update. I hope you enjoy it.

 

 

“Oh, darling, there you are!”

Her voice woke him up. She was not very far from him, just stepping out of the shadows, looking younger than he ever remembered her to be. She sounded so happy, so carefree, he didn’t recognize her at first. Dressed in a billowing silvery gown, her beauty had an ethereal quality, like something born out of a pleasant dream. It had been a long time since he last had one of those.

She wore a lot of dresses when he was a kid, but rarely something so delicate. She always favored practicality over glamour. Now, she looked small, like the frail royalty she was expected to be, with her long hair loose down her shoulders, falling past her waistline, undulating faintly into the dark.

There was this soft brightness in her features, in her gleaming smart eyes. The very fabric of her garment seemed to glow and, before he knew it, he was walking towards her light like an insect drawn to a lamp, desperate for warmth, unwise enough not to fear the burning heat. She waited for him, smiling, arms wide open, offering the shelter he’d been craving for so long.

Dashing towards her embrace, he held her as close as possible, breathing in her familiar scent, clutching at the woman like he was a child, unable to help the stream of tears running down his cheeks. He was a child, indeed. Her child.

“My goodness, you’ve grown!” she said, laughing a little, gently pushing him away so she could raise her head and gaze into his eyes. And even like this, with her chin tilted up to peer at him, overpowered by his strong arms, she somehow seemed larger than life, like an absolute, unconditional safehouse – like the only place he had left to hide from his enemies, and from all the terrible things he yearned.

Perhaps to hide even from himself.

But staring at her was like getting stabbed in the gut, again and again, and when her gentleness got too unbearable to look at, he fell to his knees in front of her tiny body and wailed. He just cried for a long time, until his eyes hurt and dried out, until his sobs became just a slight shudder, the dying flutter of a scorched little moth. He felt her fingers comb through his hair, a soft kiss at the top of his head. Then she grabbed his jaw and lifted it, tenderly, to make her son face her again, but he kept his eyes closed.

“I miss you so much”, she whispered, in a deeper voice. He was aware she was inspecting him, his older face, the shadow of recently shaved beard, his broader shoulders, his taller height. He was not the boy she once knew, but she loved this young man he became just as much. Acknowledging this love hurt him even more.

And when he finally looked at her, she already resembled the mother he recalled leaving, with aging lines in her brow, and a deep sorrow hidden in the stoic demeanor she struggled to maintain. Her flowing gown had turned into gray pants and a pragmatic vest, and her whimsical brown locks were now firmly held in her usual braided bun. She smiled at him, but the smile never got into her eyes.

“You know something?”, she started in a conspiratorial tone, the same one she used when he was very young, and she eased his moods with the promise of secret sweets at the end of his next meal. “If you just tell me where you are, I can pick you up and bring you home.”

He glared silently at her, his tears cooling in his wet face. She grabbed his hands, and he noticed how they were huge compared to hers. She was a feeble little creature, whose bones he could snap on a whim. He didn’t hold her hands back.

“Where are you, Ben?” she pleaded, still trying to smile. _Ben is dead_ , he thought. The light emanating from her started to fade, and he rose from the ground, taking a step back.

“Please, come home. I miss you… _we_ miss you!” she begged again, tightening her grip on his hands, perhaps sensing she was starting to lose him. But he just kept looking at her, not knowing what to say, lips trembling with equal amounts of ancient pain and his newfound rage.

And then everything happened so fast, there was nothing he could have done. She moved first, all instinct, turning to engage whatever was coming from behind her. He knew she was a fighter, he’d heard the stories, but seeing her so bold and unafraid was startling, even if her small figure was no match to the monster emerging from the darkness.

“He is mine, now”, he heard his master say, laughing with amused cruelty.

“That’s not true, Ben!” his mother cried out, but it was too late, no braveness could’ve helped her against Snoke, and the old man laughed louder, his teeth glistening in the dark like fangs in the mouth of a ravenous beast.

“Ben is dead, you old fool!” Snoke said, sounding so pleased, and so right.

Ben was no more.

Only Kylo remained, frozen in place by Snoke’s power, condemned to watch as Supreme Leader dismissively waved a hand, and blue lightning bolts left the tips of his fingers to course through the woman’s body. She screamed again, this time an agonizingly painful howl, as she convulsed to the floor. Fresh tears rolled down Kylo’s face.

But Snoke wasn’t done. Not yet. Keeping the smirk on his lips, Supreme Leader attacked one more time, and blue electricity pierced the darkness until the air smelled of smoke. Kylo squirmed against the invisible bonds imprisoning him, but got nowhere. Snoke used the Force to raise the woman, then turn her around. Kylo skipped a breath when his eyes met the woman’s. Her labored breath was loud, her hair disheveled, sweat dripping down her forehead; nonetheless, her strength was admirable underneath it all. She was hurt and quivering, but her eyes were pure wrath.

 _He likes that_ , Kylo thought, desperately, but was unable to say it aloud, the Force clenching his jaw shut. Snoke looked directly into his eyes, and realization hit Kylo like a thousand lightning strikes. The woman saw it, the sheer terror in her son’s face, and she understood everything. Kylo felt like she was reading his mind, seeing every attack he had endured, every humiliating session, all of the abuse.

Then Snoke gestured, and her clothes were torn to shreds. She, too, was being held in place by the Force, motionless and vulnerable.

Kylo jolted in Snoke’s grip, horrified, and the Force held him tighter. _No no no no no no_ , _not her, not like this, take me, take me instead_ … he begged in his thoughts, knowing Snoke would hear him.

“Don’t look, Ben! Close your eyes!” His mother screamed, not a single tear in her eyes while Snoke’s disgusting hands touched her pale skin. He used one of them to cover her mouth, to muffle her screams, and the other grabbed a breast, nails digging through her flesh. Crimson droplets of blood poured from the wounds, and Kylo felt as if they were his own life oozing from himself.

 _Let her go, please, I’ll do anything_ , Kylo thought, frantic, losing his mind, breaking apart while Supreme Leader searched for something inside the black robes covering his ruined body. Kylo could endure everything, _anything_ , as long as it was done to him, but not to her, _not to her, not like this_. Snoke laughed again, Ben’s mother groaned, and everything turned red: a crackling, wavering red, as Kylo’s lightsaber came to life bursting through Leia Organa’s chest.

Kylo escaped from his master’s grip at last. A dark power expanded and shrunk around Kylo’s body, then condensed inside his ribcage. Rage splintered from his breaking heart, and everything collapsed to shadows, to grief, until nothing but emptiness remained.

* * *

“Wake up.”

The boy sits up in his bed at once, sucking in a long breath, fully awake by his master’s voice. Kylo is drenched in cold sweat, can feel his hair clinging to his forehead. His heart is racing, pounding in his chest in tandem with the drumming in his ears. He is in his room at Snoke’s station, and everything is quiet, in place, but he feels disoriented. When he sees the old man, Kylo instantly backs away, as if he could merge himself with the wall against his bunk and remain unnoticed.

He is panting, loudly, and Snoke inspects him with a raised eyebrow. Supreme Leader is dressed in gold, as usual. It’s still so weird to have him here, at Kylo’s quarters. The last time he came was a couple of months ago.

“You had a dream. Sometimes, dreams tell you things” Snoke says flatly, interrupting Kylo’s trail of thoughts. A shiver runs slowly down Kylo’s spine, like his master’s tongue on his body against his will. Supreme Leader smirks, and sits on Kylo’s narrow bed. The thin mattress shifts under Snoke’s weight.

Snoke is so close Kylo can feel his disgusting odor as if it were another presence, like a phantom syrup filling up the space between them. Kylo avoids the old wizard’s cold blue eyes, but studies his features with fearful curiosity. Supreme Leader looks like a disproportionately tall wooden doll, crafted by some clumsy child who ran out of stuffing material, and then just haphazardly glued stripes of bad leather to the frame of the toy, trying to make it appear human. The skin on Snoke’s face looks like it could fall off at any minute, detaching from poorly stitched scars. Kylo can’t decide if a fleshless skull would make his master look more or less creepy, and shudders.

He remembers the last time Supreme Leader came into his quarters, right after Meeka and his warriors left. Kylo doesn’t want to think about Meeka. Snoke has been the perfect master ever since, training Kylo every day, assisting on his meditation, making good points about his fighting skills, seeming proud of his apprentice’s cross-guarded lightsaber, with its ingenious design and archaic elegance.

A few days ago, Supreme Leader even arranged for a droid to fashion new clothes that cover Kylo in black from head to toe. The heavy garments make him indistinguishable from the other Knights when Kylo puts on the helmet he managed to assemble at the station’s workshop.

Snoke hasn’t seen the helmet yet. In fact, Kylo still hasn’t looked at himself fully dressed and masked, brandishing his bright-red weapon. It’s unfortunate that he’ll only get to see that when he has to leave under Meeka’s command.

The young man lowers his eyes, but still can sense Snoke’s scrutiny. Kylo is too terrified to say anything or make the slightest move. He tries to clear his mind, but Leia Organa keeps showing up inside his head… her face when Snoke covered her mouth, her eyes burning with rage, the threat of defilement, the plasma piercing her chest… Kylo wishes he could just wake up again.

But this is not a dream. Not even one of his nightmares.

Snoke reaches out with a scrawny but steady arm and touches Kylo’s face. It’s a mockery of endearment. He pinches Kylo’s chin and tilts it sideways, examining his apprentice’s face, and then pulls Kylo closer. Kylo can’t avert Snoke’s eyes, now.

“I’ve made you feel too comfortable. I have been too lenient these last weeks. And now you’re having dreams about your mother,” Snoke says.

Kylo flinches.

“She is not my mother. She was Ben’s mother” he is able to grumble, but his master just snorts.

“And yet here you are, cowering in my presence as if I really had my way with her.”

“I… I’m not concerned about… her fate,” Kylo stammers, then swallows a strangled sob.

“I thought you were ready for your first mission with Meeka’s Knights, but I guess I was mistaken,” Snoke starts to say, tightening his grip on Kylo’s chin. “You’re not a warrior yet, just a jittery child, too scared to leave his own bed.”

Tears well up in Kylo’s eyes.

“I’m no child, master” Kylo says, regretting his cracked voice the second he hears himself.

Snoke laughs, releasing Kylo’s chin and softly caressing his left cheek, then one of the big ears he hides behind his hair, and the tender skin on Kylo’s neck. Then Snoke grabs the hair at the back of Kylo’s head and harshly pulls him even closer. It hurts, and all Kylo can see are those ruthless eyes, like grayish pools of still water. The calmness on their surface hides the monsters lurking underneath.

“Oh, so you’re a _man_ , now?” Snoke taunts, slipping his free hand beneath Kylo’s sheets and going straight to Kylo’s groins. The boy shuts his eyes.

“Look at me,” Snoke orders, tugging at his apprentice’s hair. Kylo gazes at him behind wet eyelids. “Look at me while I take you like a _grown up_. Isn’t that what you are?”

Kylo feels sudden panic building up inside his chest. This is his room, his bed, the only place where he can rest with some peace and privacy. He doesn’t want to taint it. There will be no safe space for him, no shelter, nowhere to hide. Snoke senses his hesitation.

“Grown-ups like beds, my young apprentice. And I don’t like to wait,” Snoke says, then kisses him on the lips. Kylo stays very still, waiting to get beaten, waiting for the Force to hold him in place, but nothing happens. Snoke just tosses the sheets away with his own hands, then stares hungrily at his apprentice.

Kylo thinks of Leia again, of how she just had to look at him to figure everything out, how she so easily understood the shame and disgrace in his face. He hates her for it, he loathes her pity and her sorrow, and yet yearns for an impossible rescue.

No, not for a rescue.

He yearns for transcendence, still does, after everything Snoke put him through, every test he came to endure, and pass. This is his true path, he chose it. Ben’s past must die and stay dead, so that Kylo can fulfill his destiny. And if there is one thing Kylo now knows for sure is that degradation is the mother of a special kind of darkness. It ferments inside him, simmering in his veins, fueling his abilities.

And when Snoke kisses him again, pushing his tongue inside Kylo’s lips like someone shoving the corpse of a fish into his mouth, Kylo is able to fight the nausea and use this darkness to look into Supreme Leader’s mind as if it were a clear viewport to open space.

He feels dizzy, he can’t even begin to comprehend the terrible sights he witnesses, the unbearable hate, the surprising amount of pain inside Snoke’s thoughts. They’re beyond reason, beyond anything Kylo can grasp. They drip from above like acid rain, and beneath Kylo’s feet there is no ground, only squishing dying flesh. There are barriers, too; high and impenetrable. Images flash in the sky like lightning: the slaughter of strange beasts, the anointment of an alien baby, plasma blades ripping through innocents and enemies alike, a devastating fire that consumes a whole planet. There is more, so much more, but Kylo isn’t strong enough to chase everything.

And then there is her. Leia. Thunder roars and lightning strikes, blinding him for a split second; when the flash of light dissipates, she appears right next to Kylo. She turns to look at him, and for a moment she is young and beautiful again. But her face fades like a fleeting shadow, and her flesh ripples and twists until she becomes something else. He watches in horror as she turns into Snoke, laughing and screaming that it wasn’t just a dream.

It wasn’t a dream. _It wasn’t a dream_.

The words stay in Kylo’s head after he leaves Snoke’s mind and opens his eyes. The old man is looking at him, slightly amused, spit shining in his puckered lips. Kylo’s face burns with shame. Was it just a dream? Was she there, somehow? Could she really know it? Would she tell Luke?

Will she tell Han?

“Get up, take these off” Snoke says, pulling at Kylo’s sleeping pants.

Kylo moves like he is someone else, like he is a droid. He takes his pants off, lets Supreme Leader touch him and grab his soft cock, but when Snoke leans in to kiss him again, Kylo dares to stop him by spreading his hand against his master’s chest.

“Did you bring her here?” Kylo whispers. “Please tell me it was just a dream.”

Snoke taps Kylo’s wrist away, like someone flicking an annoying bug. Supreme Leader doesn’t answer, just pushes Kylo to the bed as he lets his embroidered robes fall to the floor. Naked under the bright light of the room, Snoke looks so inhuman that Kylo could almost believe he truly is a hideous leather doll, brought to life by forbidden magic. Snoke’s emaciated body looks so frail with all that scarring, but his hard cock is a cruel weapon ready to strike, looking strangely alive among the decaying flesh.

“Does it matter?” Snoke says after all, pushing Kylo to the bed and straddling the young man.

 _Does it?_ Kylo asks himself, eyes fixed to the ceiling, avoiding Snoke’s eager face. Does it matter if she knows what Kylo had to do, still must do, in order to achieve his full potential? Didn’t Darth Vader himself go through all this during his own training? Doesn’t every dark sider, even before the time of the Sith?

Kylo feels Snoke rubbing himself lewdly against him, scraping his chest with those disgusting nails that look more like claws. This is grotesque. Kylo wonders when Snoke will turn him on his stomach, shove his prick inside and get it over with.

“Look at me” Snoke says instead, and Kylo obeys. “I want you to look at me the whole time.”

And then Kylo watches as Supreme Leader positions himself between his thighs, slicks his cock with saliva, and thrusts into him in one swift motion, all the way to the base. He shuts his eyes reflexively to the pain, but Snoke smacks his face with back of his hand.

“Don’t close your eyes!” Snoke orders.

A few angry tears roll down Kylo’s cheeks. It still hurts so much, but he keeps his eyes open, staring at his master. Snoke moves slower this time, savoring Kylo’s suffering. After a while, Snoke adjusts his own cock, then show his hand to Kylo. There is blood at his fingertips.

“You’re still so tight, even after the Knights. It’s… it’s amazing” Supreme Leader’s voice is rougher than usual, panting a little. He takes it all off, just to shove it back again, enjoying the torture.

“Tell me, my… my young apprentice. Tell me how it feels” Snoke demands.

Kylo scowls and clutches at the mattress with both hands, pain and hatred taking over.

“It just hurts,” Kylo manages to say.

Snoke laughs under his breath, speeds the pace a little, making things more uncomfortable. He pinches Kylo’s nipples. “And this? How does it feel?”

Kylo squirms, but doesn’t have time to answer. Snoke leaves the nipple and uses the same hand to choke him until tears burst from Kylo’s eyes.

“And now? Tell me!”

“It hurts, it hurts!” Kylo yells hysterically, struggling to catch his breath and keep his eyes on his master as his body is pushed up and down with Snoke’s thrusts.

Supreme Leader smiles, smears the tears across Kylo’s face with his bloody hand, and clumsily archs his body towards the boy. He gives Kylo another sloppy kiss, so wet that a long string of saliva hangs between them when they part.

 “You really hate this, don’t you” Snoke says, and Kylo knows it’s not a question. Then Supreme Leader comes, trembling slightly against Kylo, eyes fixed on his the whole time. He pulls away very slowly and shows Kylo his softening cock covered in come and blood.

“You know what you have to do” Snoke says, sitting on the bed.

Panting, Kylo slides to the floor, and kneels in front of his master, taking him in his mouth. When Snoke believes his cock in clean enough, he grabs Kylo by the hair and just pulls him away.

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” Snoke smirks. “I wanted to say goodbye, for now. Meeka will come for you tomorrow.”

Kylo watches in silence, still kneeling, as Snoke fetches his robes with the Force. He pets Kylo’s head and goes to the door.

“She is strong with the Force. You know that. And dreams are a realm permeated by the Force, much like this one” Snoke says calmly, then leaves as if he was never there in the first place.

Kylo crawls to the farthest corner of the room, staring at the bed, afraid of what the next cycle will bring, too scared to sleep.

Some dreams are worse than nightmares.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following his path towards the Dark Side, Kylo leaves for his first mission with the Knights, but things don't go as expected...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is particularly graphic, with new triggering elements. Reader discretion is mandatory. Please check the tags!

 

 

Years ago, a man named Han Solo told his only son, this boy called Ben, that space travel is like gambling: it doesn’t matter if you rely on technique or sheer luck, you should always aim to win. But Han is now far away across the galaxy, lost somewhere; Ben Solo is dead; and the young man who calls himself Kylo doesn’t feel like winning at all. What Kylo can’t help but feel, deep in his bones, is that this journey, the first since his training began, will be unfortunate. 

Maybe he’s just nervous. Or perhaps this is an insight acquired through his connection to the Force, and Kylo is traveling to his doom. But what could be harder to face than everything that has already happened to him?

The trip to Lantarii Station takes six uncomfortable hours, most of them spent in hyperspace. He keeps quiet the whole time, only mildly sweaty, sitting alongside Meeka’s knights and clutching at the hilt of his lightsaber as if it was a panic button. They don’t to talk to him, not even to taunt, and it’s like the abuse Kylo endured at their hands hasn’t occurred and he just dreamed it. Perhaps that’s better. If Kylo must pretend none of that happened, so they must pretend he almost didn’t kill them. 

Kylo knows he should be paying attention to Meeka’s Knights, planning the revenge he is sure Snoke won’t deny him once he fulfils Supreme Leader’s expectations. Kylo should be memorizing their clothes and weapons, their names, but the impressions they leave on the Force are identification enough by now. Their identities are engraved in Kylo’s soul like scars.

Vengeance schemes aside, he is one of Meeka’s men now, even though he is not quite sure what that means. They call themselves the Knights of Ren. “Ren” is the word for “shadow” in the old forbidden language. Kylo knows they’re not Force-sensitive, but doesn’t dare any other Force-assisted approach towards them. Supreme Leader ordered him to obey Meeka  in all things, to be as deferential as Kylo would be to Supreme Leader himself. It’s humiliating to submit to Meeka’s whims again, Snoke’s orders notwithstanding, but Kylo acquiesces. Snoke’s ignominy has granted Kylo many things so far: he’s finally a warrior, armored and armed, ready to bend the Force around the will of the Dark Side.

And yet, something is amiss. Kylo can’t put his finger on it, but a strange maladie surrounds him like a foreboding miasma, making him shudder inside his heavy garments as if he was naked in Snoke’s hangar. He wishes the days of submitting to his master’s lust are gone, now that he’s a Knight as well. Maybe that’s why Snoke wanted to say goodbye the last time he took Kylo. Maybe. Something akin to hope flickers inside Kylo’s chest, but he chases the feeling away, trying to put it down before it calls for a brighter, more dangerous light.

He sighs. He is still sore from that last time, and he feels his face blushing behind his mask. It feels so mortifying, childish even; a reminder that Kylo still can’t endure every trial presented along his path to the Dark Side, and that the idiotic boy who arrived at Snoke’s doorstep two years ago somehow still lives. It’s as if pathetic little Ben is trying to creep out from his tomb inside Kylo’s heart, and then pour through Kylo’s skin like stale sweat and salty tears, in spasms of shame and powerlessness. Kylo curls his fists, lets his anger smothers any signs of Ben, of hope and of Light, then fools himself into thinking they can be extinguished so easily.

He’s got other concerns, by the time being. Like the success of his present task.

Kylo doesn’t know exactly what this mission entails, but from the scarce talking of the others, he learns they’re supposed to meet an informant who lives there, and yank from this individual the whereabouts of some fugitive. Kylo has never heard of Lantarii Station before, and is shocked when Meeka’s ship finally docks at a dingy bay and they’re allowed to disembark among a myriad of old ships and sentient beings.

The smell of rotten garbage hits him first, mixed with engine coolant and tampered fuel. The stench creeps through his mask and Kylo’s instinct is to get rid of the damn thing, but he manages to keep his helmet on.  Meeka made it clear they weren’t allowed to go unmasked . This is Kylo’s own fault, as usual. He should’ve built a filter into the mask, and a proper vocoder, since his voice sounds muffled without a vocabulator to project it. The docking hangar is at the top of the station, and now they must descent to an intermediate level where the informant resides. Kylo can only imagine how bad the smell will get as they crawl down to their destination.

And beneath the hangar the place is a fucking slum, oppressively hot. Kylo hasn’t anticipated the sweltering, stinking mess inside his mask, and his eyes sting from the sweat that trickles down his hairline. The foul odor of body waste from thousands of creatures mingles to Kylo’s own perspiration, and it’s impossible for him to stick his hand inside the helmet to wipe the moisture off. Kylo blinks, but the burning sensation lingers; and as more sweat seems to gather onto his eyelashes, he fears he might cry. At least no one will notice. He thought he would enjoy finally leaving Snoke’s lair after two years of confinement, but he is starting to wonder if the company of his master would’ve been more satisfying than trying not to stumble across this junkyard. He shakes his head, disgusted with himself when a clear image of his master’s naked body comes to his mind.

While they go further into the station, Kylo realizes he’s never actually witnessed this kind of poverty before. He lived a privileged life, perhaps not befitting a prince, but comfortable and healthy even while he experienced the ascetic austerity of the Jedi. He shudders, then corrects himself in his mind: Kylo has never lived with the Jedi. That was some other boy, the scared, narrow-minded kid he killed when he accepted Snoke as his true master. 

The station is some remnant of the Empire. Kylo recognizes the architecture and a few scattered symbols fading at the rusty durasteel walls, but the place has been heavily modified and he can’t identify its original purpose. Perhaps it was just an outpost to stop by between long jumps and deploy cargo.Now the place has become a shanty town anchored by the gravity of some dim star, filled with shacks made from all types of materials: from disassembled spaceships to downright garbage. 

Electric cables crisscross the whole thing, hotwiring the power supply. If the people living here don’t kill each other first, an electric accident probably will. Kylo imagines the silent explosion, then a cloud of debris floating through space, his own body instantly turning into dust amid the destruction. Perhaps that’s the cause of his anxiety. He tries to look into the Force, searching for any signs of impending disaster, but opening up like that only invites the tumultuous thoughts of the beings around him, a current of incomprehensible ideas Kylo doesn’t want to undertake. He recoils from this mystical inquiry, tries to concentrate on his tangible surroundings.

Everything is filthy and crowded, the narrow alleys filled with uncollected garbage that appears to be sitting there since the explosion of the first Death Star. Foul streams of untreated wastewater run freely among creatures Kylo struggles to identify, some of them looking like infants and domestic animals. Vermin is everywhere, maybe hundreds of species, feeding from the spoiled food they share with sentient residents; in some cases, feeding directly from the residents themselves.

Kylo witnesses things he only saw at the holonews before, or heard Ben’s parents warn their child about: dealers passing spice along, hostile-looking thugs loitering threateningly, creatures in revealing attire proposing sexual favors in exchange of creds. There are people begging for spare credit, or staggering around from some unidentified intoxication, and they all look sick and ghoulish. Nobody cares about the eight men dressed in black wandering down what passes for streets, because everyone who doesn’t look like a inhabitant of this hell hole seems like they’re about to murder one.

Kylo tightens his grip on his lightsaber. He doesn’t know if he yearns for a fight, an excuse to unleash the disorienting feelings that threaten to overwhelm him; or if he just wants to leave this place, climb on Meeka’s ship and take his mask off. It’s getting harder to breath, his vision is tunneling behind his visor. He feels like he is bumping into people, and everytime he accidentally touches someone they leave a lingering impression, like a half-formed thought he tries not to cling to. But Kylo’s defenses are weakening, and when foreign words and unwelcome emotions start to emerge in his own thoughts, he has to stop and lean against one of the unstable constructions to clear his mind.

Meeka notices he stayed behind and takes a few steps back, stopping right in front of Kylo. He touches Kylo’s left shoulder; they’re almost the same height.

“Giving up already, little prince?” Meeka whispers, then turns away without waiting for an answer.

Kylo wants to transpass this fucker with his lightsaber. He struggles to contain the rage that threatens to overcome his senses, jaw clenched so tight he has to breathe through his nose. He yearns to power his weapon and lash at the little shack behind him, to let this wrath burst out of his body and stop torturing him. _ One day _ , he thinks. When he’s powerful enough. Instead, Kylo focus on not losing his temper. Kylo was never really good at doing that, and feels he’s getting worse, but he has orders from Supreme Leader, and he won’t fail Snoke, not on his first assignment. He takes another deep breathe and strides to catch on with the other Knights.

Finding the informant’s den takes about an hour, and Kylo is exhausted by the time they arrive at what seems like another indistinct ramshackle box. Two human children linger at the entrance, looking no older than 5 or 6 years old. They’re drowsy, not even properly playing: just sitting there with empty eyes. Kylo senses they’re hungry, maybe ill, then stares at them while trying to shelter his mind from more unwanted information. One of Meeka’s men asks the children if there’s anyone at home; when they nod a negative, he frightens them away by stomping on the ground and threatening to shoot them, which draws Kylo out of his own daze.

“Arthon, Eldred and Nix, you stay outside. The rest, come with me,” Meeka says, fumbling with the door’s mechanism and breaking into the house without effort. Kylo is the last to enter the place, his heart slamming against his chest, his right hand squeezing the hilt of the lightsaber so hard he’s shaking. This first room is just a little less filthy than the rest of the Station, and serves as living room, kitchen, bedroom, washroom, everything just crammed together inside sludge-covered walls. 

Hidden by a filthy screen at one of the corners, there’s a makeshift washbasin and a stained toilet seat. Kylo doubts the plumbing is functional. Opposed to the door where they came, there’s an open entrance leading to a bedroom, with a large bed surrounded by more garbage. Kylo can see its soiled sheets. The bedroom is so cluttered Meeka has to clear his way inside it by kicking and breaking the objects in front of him, as he goes straight to what appears to be a turned off conservator beside the bed. Even though Kylo can’t see what’s inside it from where he’s standing, the sharp scream leaves no doubt: Meeka yanks a human from that hiding place, then manages to hold her arms from behind, against her back. With his other hand, Meeka covers her mouth, then pushes her out of the bedroom.

The human female wails. Her hair is covered with a thin veil, and she wears a long tunic that goes almost to her knees, pants tucked inside old boots. Kylo can’t identify her culture just from her garments. She seems older than him, but not much, and he wonders if she’s the mother of those two little children. Kylo’s blood goes frigid in his veins, and a renewed wave of sweat, now icy and thick, oozes from his pores. He thinks of his last dream, the one with Ben’s mother, and shivers.

Meeka huffs through the vocoder in his own mask as he jerks the woman forward into the main room. Her presence overcrowds the already crammed space, then Kylo realizes he’s feeling worse only because he’s failing in keep her out of his mind. Panic exudes from her like poisonous gas, and Kylo holds his breath for as long as he can. His heart pounds inside his head.

“If you scream, I will cut your tongue,” Meeka says to the woman, next to her ear. “Then I’ll break the necks of those snotty kids outside, but not before I do to them what I’m about to do to you.” Her eyes go wide and she squirms against him, but Meeka tightens his grip on her, so she just sniffles and nods as tears run down her cheeks, down Meeka’s hand.

Meeka shoves her to a chair and gestures to one of his men, who cuffs her hands to the back of the seat, then bounds each of her ankles to two of the chair’s legs, spreading her knees. Meeka sits in front of her, unveils the woman slowly, then covers his own helm with the scarf.  _ He is crazy _ , Kylo thinks. She is blond, and her hair is gathered into a thick braid that falls to her shoulder. Meeka tugs at the braid, presses it between his fingers, then pulls a vibro-knife from a sheath strapped to his thigh. The woman weeps silently as she watches her captor; in fact, everybody is quiet, observing the scene unfold. When Meeka cuts her long hair, letting it fall to her lap like a dead little animal, she just whimpers. Meeka sheathes the blade, and unbuttons the woman’s tunic until the top of her chest is exposed. 

“Where is he?” Meeka asks her, his voice filtered voice sounding hauntingly neutral through his mask. The woman shakes her head. Meeka opens all the buttons, revealing a breast band. Her crying gets a little louder, and Kylo manages to take a few steps to the left, leaning against the actual conservator at the kitchen area without being noticed. Kylo’s thoughts are a mess, so intertwined with hers that he can see what the woman is seeing: five masked monsters that brought torture and death to her home. She mentally pleads with deities Kylo doesn’t know, to allow her to die quickly and painlessly when the time comes. Kylo can’t look away from her, petrified by the dread they’re both sharing.

“The more you annoy me, the worst things are going to be. Where is he? Because we’ll find him. And all of  _ this _ ,” Meeka says, waving his hand at her, “will be in vain.” When she doesn’t answer, Meeka slaps her.

Kylo flinches, his face suddenly hot as if the blow was delivered to his own cheek. The woman’s feelings keep him frozen in place: his mind is too open to hers. He can’t protect himself from the intrusion of her raw agony. Her desperate thoughts ravage through him, and Kylo finally senses why: she is Force-sensitive, untrained and not very powerful, but the situation is desperate enough to allow her to set this connection. Kylo is helpless because he also knows what it feels like to experience the horror, he knows the humiliation. They suffocate him even now. 

Meeka slaps the sobbing woman again, then uses her veil to gag her. He gets the knife one more time and rips the strip of cloth around her breasts, baring her pale white skin. She tries to get up from the chair, but one of Meeka’s men pushes her shoulders down. She writhes, but Meeka effortlessly shreds her pants, then her undergarments. Her thorn clothes hang from her body, and Kylo shudders, as if his own nudity is being defiled all over again. Kylo clutches at a counter beside the conservator, feeling dizzy, and is barely aware when he drops a bowl to the floor. It shatters with a loud noise, spilling a rancid gray mash.

Everybody turn to look at him, and Meeka scoffs. Kylo wants to chop the bastard’s head off with his lightsaber, but he can’t. And not just because of Snoke. He’s still paralyzed.

“I guess our little prince doesn’t like to watch a man do his job,” Meeka says, teasing. “I’ll spare you the details, young Kylo.” Then he nods to the other knights. “Untie her and take her to the bedroom.”

Kylo hears his own labored breath echoing inside mask. He can’t even bring himself to use the Force to collect the broken pieces of the bowl, and he lets his body slides down the conservator, afraid he might pass out. Because the woman is almost fainting with fear, too scared and too weak to fight back, and her powerlessness is infectious, a disease that prevents Kylo from doing anything besides panting on the dirty floor. He still can see what she’s seeing, feel what she’s feeling. Kylo grabs his helm with both hands, and it’s like holding an alien appendage that suddenly took the place of his skull. 

He takes it off and throws the mask away. His hair is soaked in sweat, dripping around his face as he inhales deeply. And yet he remains breathless, since she can’t breath either: her mouth is gagged, she is choking on her veil, panic-stricken, overwhelmed. So Kylo is choking too, gasping for air. Fear is a snake squeezing his chest, smashing his ribcage. Someone throws her to the bed, on her back, naked, and Kylo can feel the weight of her first attacker crushing him as well.

Kylo’s eyes are open, but they see only what the disgraced woman can see: a blurred dark helmet, anonymous and expressionless. She closes her eyes shut when the masked monster forces itself inside her; and for long, harrowing minutes, there’s only darkness and pain, so much pain. Kylo feels the tears running down her face and soaking his own cheeks; he feels the searing ache piercing through her and slicing him apart, and he drowns in her sorrow. For an excruciating moment, he floats in the dark behind her closed eyelids, helpless, defeated.

Someone slaps her, pulls her hair, takes the veil from her mouth. When she gasps, Kylo is relieved to feel air again in his lungs, but their respite doesn’t last. She dares opening her eyes, and Kylo sees it, too: it’s Meeka, unfastening his pants. Red, everything is red, and Kylo thinks it’s blood, but the woman doesn’t smell blood. It’s Meeka’s skin, he is not human. So Meeka pushes himself into her mouth, doing to her what he’s done to Kylo not long ago, and those two moments overlap in a gruesome hallucination inside Kylo’s brain. Meeka crouches over the woman and whispers, menacing: “if you bite, I’ll kill you.”

Kylo doesn’t know if this is his own memory, or if this is happening now, if this is Meeka’s usual procedure. Maybe it’s both.

The woman acquiesces, her body goes limp and so does Kylo’s. Everything goes quiet, and the darkness fades, becomes clear whiteness. They’re suddenly in an endless room, stark white, empty but peaceful. She is unconscious, Kylo realizes. This is some deeper recess of her mind, a place he didn’t know he could access. Kylo can see her fully dressed, head covered with modesty, and she’s clutching a baby in her arms, with dark skin and fair hair. The baby looks nothing like the hungry kids they saw outside. Someone approaches: it’s a sturdy man, his skin is the same color as the baby’s, but his hair is brown. The man hugs the woman, kisses the baby’s forehead. They don’t see Kylo, who doesn’t have a body in this place. Kylo is just a presence, passive and watchful. 

The woman smiles. She gives the baby to the man, and tells them to go, to hurry. Kylo can hear when she speaks even though her lips do not move.

“Leave, Orlaal” she says with her mouth closed, her voice echoing through the white. “Go, and hide. I’ll keep them here. They won’t take anything from me.”

Orlaal kisses the woman, holds the baby close to his chest.

“You are so brave, Arjani,” Orlaal says. Those names resonate through Kylo, like a very sought-after epiphany. It’s more than stealing bits of information from other people’s minds: he can use the Force to learn their secrets, in some fashion. Those pieces of information are enough for him to find out the story behind them, and Kylo learns what has happened like a revelation, so powerful it sends him back to the confines of his own thoughts, and he jerks awake in his body, lying on the filthy floor. One of the Knights just splashed water on Kylo’s face. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you, boy?” The man asks, annoyed. “Are you sick?”

Kylo manages to sit up, breathing fast, trying to say something. He is mercifully alone in his mind, but he doesn’t know for how long. He understands what happened: Orlaal had a kid with his woman, and the Order claimed the baby to their ranks, as a trooper. So they betrayed the Order and fled. And she chose to save the child, when the time came, buying time for Orlaal to escape. Kylo resents Ben’s parents: they would never do such a thing for him. The princess would never pick him over her duties, the smuggler would trade Ben himself if he could. Fuck Ben’s parents. Kylo doesn’t want to think about them. And now that he is out of Arjani’s mind, the Force feels strange and elusive, a reluctant energy he is too far away to grasp, a vague map that can’t be easily understood.

“She knew… she knew we were coming,” Kylo says, hoarse.

“Of course she knew. They betrayed the Order,” the Knight starts to say, but Kylo shakes his head.

“She knew you’d torture her. So she is stalling. The man, Orlaal. He is leaving the Station as we waste time with her. He’s taking their baby with him. Those kids outside, they’re not even her kids.”

“How do you know all this?”

“The Force,” Kylo says, then coughs, struggling to breath, and stares at the Knight. The man is holding Kylo’s helmet.

Without looking away from Kylo, the Knight strains his neck and shouts at the bedroom.

“Boss, the boy says this all a plan, a ruse. That she’s stalling us so Orlaal can leave.”

“What?” Meeka screams back to the kitchen, and then to the other men in the room: “wake this bitch up.”

Kylo is up in no time, rushing to the bedroom. They can’t wake Arjani, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to keep her out. He halts at the bedroom’s door, disgusted by what he sees: the woman is splayed on the bed, out cold, red bruises blemishing her skin. He can’t help but notice the very blond hair under her arms, between her legs, where one of the Knights is still sunk to the core. Meeka releases Arjani’s head and looks at Kylo. With his crimson erection pointing out of his otherwise fully dressed self, Meeka looks insanely depraved, ridiculously monstrous.

_ He is a zeltron _ , Kylo thinks. It’s an absurd thought, because it doesn’t matter. Kylo wants this to be a surreal nightmare, but his slamming heart feels too real against his chest, his ragged breath is too palpable.

“There’s no point in torturing her,” Kylo says, short of breath, cautiously, looking directly at Meeka’s head. “Orlaal is leaving right now, perhaps already left.”

“And how did you find out?” Meeka asks, waving to the others to make them step away from Arjani’s body.

“Through the Force. I… I have connected with her,” Kylo stammers, waving at the woman.

“You have  _ connected _ with her? So maybe you’d like to deepen that connection?”

“What? I don’t think I-” Kylo starts, but Meeka interrupts him.

“Take off your clothes. If you were able to gather all this intel just by looking at her, perhaps fucking this whore will tell us where that traitor Orlaal is going.”

“Are you crazy?” Kylo is shouting now, but he can’t help it. “That’s not how the Force works! I don’t even understand how I was able to enter her mind like this…”

“Supreme Leader told you to obey me in all things.”

Kylo huffs.

“Please, listen to me. This won’t help. I can’t control it. I’m only able to talk to you now because she is unconcious!”

Kylo regrets saying these words the moment they leave his mouth. Meeka caresses the woman’s hair, then slaps her face, hard. It’s enough. Arjani’s eyes jolt open, unfocused for a second, but then she looks straight to Kylo, and that’s all it takes. He is imbibed in her mind as if someone blew a whole at the hull of a spaceship and he got sucked into oblivion by the resulting vacuum.

But Arjani’s mind is no oblivion. Her thoughts are a hellish mess of pain and humiliation, revulsion and fear, and it’s unbearable. Every dreadful feeling washes over him like rain, courses through him like lightning, soaking and burning until it’s too much. At some point, Kylo finally escapes the maddening limits of his mind, entangled as it is with Arjani’s, and feels like floating above the whole scene, again a disembodied entity observing things from overhead while the room is in utter chaos, a cacophony of torture and screams and violence. Kylo almost yearns for the Sith mask Snoke used to blindfold him: perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, cutting him off from the Force, guarding him from things he never should have witnessed.

Nevertheless, Kylo sees himself kneeling near the bed, motionless, head bowed down. Someone grabs his hair and pulls it back until he is gazing at the ceiling. Kylo can see his own desperate face now, eyes bursting with tears, mouth open in silent agony. Meeka and two knights rearrange Arjani’s malnourished body on the bed. Surrounded by all those figures clad in dark armor, she looks like a corpse being pulled apart by vultures, because that’s exactly how she feels, and Kylo knows it. He tries to run away from this knowledge, but there’s nowhere to go. He can’t leave this room, can’t escape from the reality of what is happening now. Arjani’s suffering pulls him back like the gravity of a hundred suns.

Other Knights approach Kylo’s body. They make him stand up. They pull his pants down. They touch him. Arjani understands: they want that strange young man to take her, and she sees his reluctance. In her blind and inexperienced despair, she manages to bring Kylo back to his own body, and he understands everything, too; feels everything, all at once: the explosion he imagined before, obliterating the station, actually takes place inside himself, fueled by Arjani’s anguish. Kylo disintegrates into countless shards of pain, only to be reformed by something dark, full of sorrow, full of hatred.

When Kylo opens his eyes, all he can see is the terrified woman. Lying naked and battered, a reflection of Kylo’s own disgrace, she is an easy target.

_ She is the only target _ , he thinks. She is an open wound slashed across the Force, much like he is. Kylo summons his lightsaber, and the blade crackles and hums in his grip, red like Meeka’s skin. In a swift motion, Kylo jumps on the bed. No one can stop him: no one tries, but Kylo listens when Meeka says “no”. Kylo ignores it, and pierces Arjani’s chest with the plasma, till the hilt. He is looking at her eyes when the light leaves them, and there is something inside him that wants to feel regret for a second, because he knows he is killing some part of him, too.

But before Kylo can fully acknowledge this, something cracks at the back of his skull, and everything vanishes from his sight.

* * *

Nobody gives a shit about the men carrying a passed out companion along Lantarii Station. This is a place of poverty and exploitation, of squalor and debauchery, where a drunken fool causes no comotion. So Meeka and his Knights are able to take Supreme Leader’s apprentice to their ship without hassle and, once there, they manage to inject him with sedatives enough for a whole cycle of sleep.

They let him slumber on the floor of the cargo compartment, tied up with magnetic cuffs, his lightsaber confiscated just in case. They are all a little scared, but Meeka is proud he managed to break a chair on the bastard’s head before he pulled that saber off the woman’s chest and started slaughtering Meeka’s men. 

Snoke has never had such a powerful Force-user as an apprentice, at least as far as Meeka can tell, and the little shitty prince doesn’t respect the Knights. But Meeka will handle this. Kylo blew everything when he killed that cunt. Supreme Leader won’t be pleased to hear that his fuckboy still can’t take his orders. Meeka is almost glad the stupid boy is too strong in the Force to fully submit to the Knights.

But it doesn’t matter. Not even the mission mattered that much. Orlaal is a traitor, he deserves to serve as an example to those who think about betraying the Order, but this was an excuse to test the apprentice, and he failed. Meeka will find Orlaal eventually, but first he will take the fallen prince to Supreme Leader. And delight in his punishment. Snoke hates failure. 

Meeka gazes at the viewport of his ship, bathed in the blue light of hyperspace, smiling with anticipation.

**Author's Note:**

> EXTENDED DISCLAIMER (spoilers ahead)
> 
> This story is very dark, with content some may find deeply disturbing. It starts with a 16 year old Kylo, so yes, there is sexual abuse of a teenager here. I find that it explains a lot of Kylo's behaviour and is a very probable dynamic when it comes to Snoke, since he stalked and psychologically abused Ben from an early age. And this story is about angst, anger, hatred, torture; so every chapter is written around something *really* bad happening to Kylo. 
> 
> I have no intention to romanticize the abuse, but I did want to portray it in a very graphic manner. It is violent, blunt, traumatic, and Kylo hates it completely. He loathes it, but his perspective is twisted, he is a disturbed young man manipulated by horrible people into submitting to all this torture - not in a masochistic way, but in a sacrificial manner. He hates himself so much he truly believes this is the only way he can obtain the power and control he feels lacking. Of course he is wrong, of course he is getting ill, like many abuse victims often get. There is no doubt that what he is being subjected to is wrong. But part of Kylo Ren's psychological frame (even from canon perpective) is to deny his own victimhood and any other weaknesses. He strikes me as a very sad character, with this particularly tragic brand of stoicism, so I went for some of the most sad, tragic and terrible things a person could endure to portray him.
> 
> He is already 18 by the fourth chapter (so I guess you can skip the first three chapters if his age is of great concern to you), and I do not intend to portray any further explicit sexual abuse of underage characters in this story, but bear in mind that this a theme here. If you have any questions, comments, suggestions, please feel free to leave a message. I fint it very healthy to discuss limits with the community, and I welcome different paradigms.


End file.
